This is what happens when you nag, and nag, and nag
I'm on a 7am flight out to somewhere tomorrow for 4 nights, 5 days! I complained to Spidey that he had no imagination at all when it came to planning something for us to do. He couldn't understand why I didn't regard quality time as sitting in front of the TV arms and legs entwined with each other.
Unlike Spidey, I'm a firm believer in spontaneity so I'm not really used to being on the receiving end this time round. So I am completely busting out of my mind with curiosity as to where we're going. I haven't even been told what to pack or whether or not I need to bring my French/English phrase book. Okay, so I may end up having mud hut grub as opposed to croissants but quite frankly I don't flipping care!
Today I am like a child locked in a room with ten different kinds of ice creams! YIIPEEEEEE
(NB. This post is so unlike me. I mean, I haven't even talked about reproduction.)
I should stop smokin da 'erbs
Some weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night sobbing because I dreamt that Spidey had died from a drowning accident. It only took a moment to realise that he was still very much alive, sleeping soundly next to me, deliciously warm and completely unawares of my hysterics. Just to be sure though, I pinched, poked and prodded at him like a pork chop at market. This caused him to stir, which then caused me to deliriously vomit out a scene-by-scene narrative of my nightmare.
When it occurred to me that he wasn't paying any attention, and that I had probably roused the neighbourhood horses, I found a warm nook against his body and ensconced myself there till the wee hours of the morn.
I am writing this now because I couldn't bring myself to do it the day after it happened. I thought I would jinx myself or him. Dammit, I don't even believe in that bubblefuck!
On a much lighter note, I dreamt a few days later that I got in a funky bunch with Marky Mark. Mmmmm....it really is that big!