Last night I had a dream that B and I were preparing to eat french fries, and he was putting catsup on his plate.
In the dream, I yelled at him for using too much catsup. I was seriously pissed that his little pile of a tomato-based condiment was too big. How dare he?!
I'm scared at what this says about me as a person.
Why do I only remember the dreams like this?
*Just in case I have any readers who've been in a bomb shelter without television, or who have just woken from a 15 year coma or something, it's a joke from Pulp Fiction. The punchline is Catsup.