...roll credits across my still-closed eyelids.
I couldn't really make them out, it was like trying to read them through someone else's spectacles and anyway I was already more or less awake and the "house lights" were coming up fading the projection on the eyelid-screen, but... REALLY.
*CREDITS*.
I don't know whether to be astonished, amused, afraid, or affronted.
Yes, AFFRONTED. They're my dreams, dammit. If they listed anybody else with producer or director credits, I am going to have WORDS with my backbrain.
Anyway, I wouldn't want others to be so quick to claim the credit for any of this. Tonight's dreamshow included, but was not limited to, a recipe for a cabbage dish with lima beans that came in two varieties, hot and mild,and I was wondering in-dream what kind of beans to substitute for the lima beans because
rdeck, who eats most anything, REALLY dislikes lima beans; searching for some sort of immigrant mafia in the back of an ethnic restaurant (perhaps that's where the cabbage recipe came from - and when I say "immigrant" I mean it was nebulous, the mafia might have been Russian but the restaurant smelled Thai...); and a fabric which came with a warning that it should not be worn in close proximity to anything metallic because of a danger of spontaneous combustion, illustrated by an image of a homely middle-aged bride bursting into flames at the altar while having a wedding ring put on her finger and looking very surprised about that.Now, honestly. CREDITS.
Have to go now. Time for some errands.
Credits. [Exits, shaking head.]
