Just me, the Italian guy, and some hot sheets

I didn't write a post last night! I'm strangely proud of myself for blogging every day, so I felt guilty this morning when I realized I missed a night.

Was there a good reason? ((suggestive eyebrow wiggle here))

Oh absolutely.

I fell asleep.
We're talking a 12-hour nap my friends, and it felt good.

Completely unintentional, I stretched out with a magazine and 30 seconds later I was out. Woke up around midnight, closed the house down, and went back to sleep until late this morning.

As with any good stretch of sleep, there were dreams. There are two kinds of dreaming people: those that dream and feel the need to tell everyone, and those that dream, keep it to themselves and wish others would do the same.

I tend to be the former. It's a bad habit. If the dreams are a jumbled mess to me, they must be nothing short of chaotic background noise to those not in them. Still, I have a tendency to say "Hey! I had this dream last night, it was so weird, we were in a store, but it wasn't like the store we usually go to, instead they had chairs and sold only plaid fabric. And there were goldfish everywhere! And I wanted a parrot so we..."

Yeah.

So I'll keep to myself the dream about the Hawaiian-theme wedding my already married sister had. I will secretly laugh over the one about a tour through an old bordello with my co-workers and some football players. And the one with the all-night laundry-mat and drug store where I helped a hot Italian guy fold his sheets?
No one needs to know about that.