eight hours of sleep
Those "extra" two hours may mean the difference between remembering and not remembering a dream.
I had been shopping with my parents in a Sam's Club type joint. We were checking out with a friendly, older female cashier. She inferred what I planned to make from the items I bought (I forget what they were) and asked, "Would you like some tomatoes to go with that? It looks like you don't have tomatoes here." (She meant canned tomatoes.)
Although I knew she was upselling, I actually did need tomatoes. In fact, I realized I couldn't make the pizza without them.
"I can have someone bring them up for you," the cashier said.
I knew that my parents had some event they needed to attend that night, so I checked a clock in the store. It looked like an old-fashioned punch-in/punch-out time clock with a black background and thin white numbers. I couldn't really understand what time it was but it seemed to be after 4. I think I was unconsciously trying to get it to be 4, or even a little before 4.
I ended up telling the cashier OK because I really wanted to make that pizza. "But we have to go, so only if you're positive it will only take a few minutes," I added. I intended to make the pizza at my parents' house while they were at the event. I sort of rationalized the whole thing by telling myself I was making it for them.
I got really impatient and nervous waiting for the tomatoes and started hopping from one foot to the other, then jumping. I looked down and saw that I had on my little black boots I wear to work.
We apparently got out of there, one way or another. My dad didn't like how the car doors aligned with each other when they were all shut. He scrutinized them in the parking lot, and he pulled over again when we were almost home. This was on Beechwood Boulevard just past Forbes. He got out of the car and kneeled next to the driver's side door, opening and closing that door and the one behind it.
Also, one of them told me it was OK to feed Jerry Bart's fancy cat food, since we ran out of Fancy Feast.
I had been shopping with my parents in a Sam's Club type joint. We were checking out with a friendly, older female cashier. She inferred what I planned to make from the items I bought (I forget what they were) and asked, "Would you like some tomatoes to go with that? It looks like you don't have tomatoes here." (She meant canned tomatoes.)
Although I knew she was upselling, I actually did need tomatoes. In fact, I realized I couldn't make the pizza without them.
"I can have someone bring them up for you," the cashier said.
I knew that my parents had some event they needed to attend that night, so I checked a clock in the store. It looked like an old-fashioned punch-in/punch-out time clock with a black background and thin white numbers. I couldn't really understand what time it was but it seemed to be after 4. I think I was unconsciously trying to get it to be 4, or even a little before 4.
I ended up telling the cashier OK because I really wanted to make that pizza. "But we have to go, so only if you're positive it will only take a few minutes," I added. I intended to make the pizza at my parents' house while they were at the event. I sort of rationalized the whole thing by telling myself I was making it for them.
I got really impatient and nervous waiting for the tomatoes and started hopping from one foot to the other, then jumping. I looked down and saw that I had on my little black boots I wear to work.
We apparently got out of there, one way or another. My dad didn't like how the car doors aligned with each other when they were all shut. He scrutinized them in the parking lot, and he pulled over again when we were almost home. This was on Beechwood Boulevard just past Forbes. He got out of the car and kneeled next to the driver's side door, opening and closing that door and the one behind it.
Also, one of them told me it was OK to feed Jerry Bart's fancy cat food, since we ran out of Fancy Feast.