Okay, first there was the episode with George Clooney, now this.
I had a dream about Chris Isaak last night. Now, for those unfamiliar with the gentleman in question, he looks like this:
Ahem. Now, without wishing to objectify anyone, it is not inconceivable that a healthy heterosexual female, presented with such a specimen of the opposite sex, may wish to… you know… as they say in The Simpsons, snuggle. But for reasons known only to itself, when my mind decided to make me dream about Chris Isaak, we were trying to get the ironing done.
THAT'S RIGHT – THE FUCKING IRONING.
The dream started with promise. We were on the run it seemed. Certainly there was a sense of urgency. Certainly I had the sense for a moment there I was about to well, get lucky. Then Chris (you don't mind if I call you, Chris, do you, Chris?) throws open a door. Again, there's a great sense of urgency. In this apartment are two young men. Chris says, "Where you been, man? We were looking for you at the other place." One of the young men says, "Oh man, we had to get out of there fast." (It would seem he hadn't done someone's ironing properly.) Then Chris hands the guy two baskets of ironing and says, "We want you to do this."
Well, I don't particularly like ironing but the young man must have disliked it more, because he pulled a gun on us. Chris takes the gun off of him and hands it to me. "We'll be back for that ironing," he says, "and it had better be done."
Then we make good our escape, by way of swinging arm to arm on high metal scaffolding, made more difficult for me, I might add, by the fact that Chris leaves me to carry this loaded rifle (thanks, Chris.) All the while I am thinking that by the time we go back to collect the ironing, the young man will have had time to get himself another gun. Chris, however, is confident that when we return the ironing will be done.
I… have many questions.
While Martin Luther King got to dream such a big, useful, wonderful dream, why then did I get this completely useless tosser of a dream in which I didn't even get laid? WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY?
Why did my mind go to such efforts to dream about… IRONING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD?
Don't get too excited, Leeanne. He's only interested in your ironing, baby.