Sweet dreams

Last night Joe and I went to the cineplex for a movie and to our great delight they were selling lemonade. One of the reasons we hate going to cineplex is because they have bad popcorn and terrible drinks to go with their popcorn. But we love lemonade.

However, the guy helping us filled our cup halfway with ice so we actually got hardly any lemonade. I calmly asked him if we were going to be able to get a refill when we finished it but the boy told me the cineplex does not give refills. Now I am not a girl who likes confrontation, but I snapped. It's been too long since I have been in a movie with a delicious glass of lemonade so I laid into this boy telling him that he'd better give us a proper cup of lemonade or he was gonna feel some pain. The boy apologized and told us that it was policy to give that much ice with their lemonade.

Fed up, I yanked the half full cup of lemonade from the boy and dumped the ice and then filled the cup all the way to the top with the heavenly juice. The boy started yelling and called for security so I ran down the hall towards my movie dodging security guards and movie lines, all without spilling my drink. I got into the theatre and quickly found a seat to hunker down while I hid from the authorities and enjoyed my movie.

I don't even know what movie it was, but my biggest disappointment was that I woke up before I could have a sip of my dang lemonade.

Wake-Up Call

Have you ever had one of those dreams where someone close to you hurts you? And then when you wake up the next morning, you're still mad at them for hurting you in your dream? Or you feel awkward when you see them the next day because the dream you had about them was really wierd?

I get that all the time. And Johnny makes fun of me for it because he always reminds me that it was just a dream!

I don't know what it is, but it seems to only happen to women. Maybe it's because we're more emotional than men so when we experience emotion in a dream, the left overs are still affecting us when we wake up.

Last night I had a dream that Bindi died (my dog, not Steve Irwin's daughter). I don't remember how it happened, but she saved my family somehow and contracted this awful disease where all her insides turned to water and then my mom had to put her out of her misery by throwing her against a concrete wall. Morbid, I know, but we were all miserable that she was gone because she had saved our lives.

So when I saw her this morning I was so happy to see her that I scooped her up and held on to her for a long time. And then she squirmed out of my arms and ran away.

So much for being a hero-dog.