No, That’s Not My Husband

We all got sick (nothing bad), but if you know anything about families getting sick, it’s that you don’t write blogs during sick week. You do the bare minimum. Nothing fancy happens during sick week. But now that we’re healthy, I can go back to being fancy.

I had a nightmare the other night that someone (don’t know who) asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. Dream starts with me in a bridesmaid dress and I’m standing off to the side, ready to make my entrance down the aisle. As I step out there, an announcer says, “This is Carolyn. She is the wife of L. Ron Hubbard.” I’m like, “Pardon?” It was a joke that everyone played on me. I found it funny (in real life and in the dream), but as I was standing at the altar, I thought, ‘Why him?’ I have not thought about L. Ron Hubbard in years, so why does such a nasty man enter my dream? The mind is a strange thing.

Not my type. At all.

What else?

Oh, I leveled up as a woman. I watched a disturbing amount of Pride and Prejudice (the 90s BBC series) over the Christmas break, then throughout January, etc, etc. No matter what version you watch (or perhaps you’ve read the book—smart), then you know about the conversation regarding what constitutes an “accomplished woman.” My goal for 2022 is to become an “accomplished woman.” SO accomplished that I would be on Mr. Darcy’s half-a-dozen shortlist. One of the ways I’m working towards this grand status is I sewed some towels. The stitching on the hems of three towels were going out and ruining the fine aesthetic going on in our bathrooms. Dangly thread action. I said to myself, “Now I can just throw those into the garage and use them as towels-of-shame then spend $30 on new ones OR I can take 8 minutes to sew these hems.” What do accomplished women do?

There’s your answer.

Here’s something tragic that happened. There was a giant daddy long legged spider in our bathroom (they love it there). He was crawling on the ground instead of suspended above the shower drain like usual (it’s called the waterfall of death in ancient spider lore). Very odd. I’m not a spider sympathizer. Not to sound like a broken record, but I kill way more flies than any spider I know so I see no use for keeping them around. But my daughter loves them and stopped me from stomping it. I’m also not a “collect the spider and release it” person, so I just let the thing go on its journey. But I KNEW, I KNEW something was up. Why was that big honker just strolling along the floor?

Anyway, sometime that night, I dropped my too-firm pillow onto the ground. When I woke up in the morning, I looked over the edge of the bed and saw the big whopper on my pillow with a leg busted off. It was him… the traveler… and he came to see me in the night. But why?

“What.”

So, what happened? He was ON the pillow, not under. Did we share that pillow in the night? If so, that makes me angry. Did I punch or head butt his leg off? Here’s what I really want to know: was there any point in the night that my cheek rested on it?