The visitor(s)
So I’ve had a lot of visitors lately – not having a babysitter means mi casa es tu casa because I’m trapped like rodentia over here. I’ve had some stoop hanging, some dog hunts (Heidi jumped through the front door and took hot pursuit after a cat causing a HUGE dog search only to find her a few blocks away), fun hula hooping in the backyard, and certainly a few bottles of wine have been opened and consumed.
That is why it interests me greatly how I came to have this dream: I went to the LaLa and walked in and looked around – I was happy, and was sort of just poking around seeing what was going on – every surface had been changed to something different – copper, leather, wood – all this masculinity had poured into the LaLa and I was just smiling while I was checking it out. Then the owner asked me to leave. The next day I went back again, and was poking around and came into the room where the owner was at his big masculine desk and smiled and he said, “Really Rachel, you aren’t allowed to come in here anymore.” And I said, “Oh yeah, right, my bad, my bad.” And was smiling almost blissfully the whole time as he walked me out – but even though he was being assertive as he led me to the door, he was also massaging my back and tickling me.
I keep shaking my head – I was the visitor in the LaLa – was ushered out – smiling the whole time.