SMELLS LIKE A WINNER! YUM!
Sourdough pizza. Photo by Cecilia Kennedy
In my dreams, I’m flitting about in yoga pants that sparkle like sapphires—and the entire house is made of pizza. I glide over to the living room and fearlessly take a huge bite out of a load-bearing wall. Then, Nate and Alex walk through the front door after a hike, and I have to tell them to remove their shoes so that they won’t ruin the tasty pizza floors. After removing their shoes, they ask:
“What’s for dinner?”
And, in my dreams, my super-powers of sassiness intensify. In shiny, sassy splendor, I tell them: “For crying out loud! We live in a pizza house! Can’t you just help yourselves to the roof every once in a while?”
And that’s when I wake up, chewing on bedsheets, dangling from the dresser, and shouting, “Follow me to the roof!”
My dreams only vaguely resemble reality on…
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