I had a dream that I was pregnant. Judging by the size, I’d guess seven or eight months along. I was wandering around some sort of get-together in search of Bob while people marveled over the fact that I was still wearing my wedding ring. Bob appeared to be missing completely from the gathering and I got sidetracked from my search by a plate of baked potatoes.
Because obviously.
Then I shared my Investigation Discovery knowledge about some reality show contestant everyone was talking about by telling them all how Dateline had done a story on the guy for some crime he had committed.
Again, obviously.
I never did find Bob before I woke up.
My initial thought when I gained some semblance of coherency was, Holy Christmas thank God I’m not pregnant.
And then, I want potatoes.
Obviously.
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