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Bitter but no bunions
Mar. 2nd, 2010 12:40 pmMy subconscious has come up with an idea for a dream-interpreting bed. It's got tabbed dividers down the side and the idea of it is that whenever you have a dream about, say, talking to a lobster, the bed interprets this and notes down that the dreamer really wants to ring their long-lost friend, Mr Crab. Then the bed opens itself to the 'activities' tab, thus tipping the dreamer out of bed and waking her up so the first thing she sees is the very large note to ring Mr Crab.
Which is all well and good, except I have been dreaming about this bed, and every time dream me gets tipped out of bed and wakes up, actual me wakes up too. Five times in the last two nights, and I'm a bit over it. Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me to be more organised, but I wish it would find a less sleep-interrupting way to do it.
Apart from that, this is what I've been thinking about: things my mother taught me.
Lesson number five is the one that's on my mind today. It doesn't mean she's prancing about in Jimmy Choos. She's a wearer of sensible shoes, my mother. But she'd rather one quality pair of shoes that last rather than cheapies that don't. Which is, parenthetically, why I wasn't allowed to have jelly sandals when I was little. Not that I'm bitter about that at all.
Anyway, one of my colleagues obviously never got this advice from her mother, because she went looking for a pair of shoes a couple of weeks ago, determined to find cheap ones. She was appalled that the pair she liked best cost a shocking eighty-five dollars. I was on leave last week and I've returned to find her still going on about the exorbitant price she paid for them. I've spent the last two days at work hoping she doesn't think to ask how much mine cost because she'll have a heart attack. But they'll last longer than hers and I won't get bunions, so thanks, Mum.
Which is all well and good, except I have been dreaming about this bed, and every time dream me gets tipped out of bed and wakes up, actual me wakes up too. Five times in the last two nights, and I'm a bit over it. Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me to be more organised, but I wish it would find a less sleep-interrupting way to do it.
Apart from that, this is what I've been thinking about: things my mother taught me.
- Don't take yourself seriously.
- Never eat mushrooms that grow under trees. (I'm not convinced of this one, I must admit, but I'm not keen to put it to the test either. One, I might be poisoned and two, oh, how she'd gloat.)
- Don't bother dusting if there's a book you can read instead.
- The last book in a series is never as good as the rest.
- Never buy cheap shoes.
Lesson number five is the one that's on my mind today. It doesn't mean she's prancing about in Jimmy Choos. She's a wearer of sensible shoes, my mother. But she'd rather one quality pair of shoes that last rather than cheapies that don't. Which is, parenthetically, why I wasn't allowed to have jelly sandals when I was little. Not that I'm bitter about that at all.
Anyway, one of my colleagues obviously never got this advice from her mother, because she went looking for a pair of shoes a couple of weeks ago, determined to find cheap ones. She was appalled that the pair she liked best cost a shocking eighty-five dollars. I was on leave last week and I've returned to find her still going on about the exorbitant price she paid for them. I've spent the last two days at work hoping she doesn't think to ask how much mine cost because she'll have a heart attack. But they'll last longer than hers and I won't get bunions, so thanks, Mum.