So there I was, in a boudoir full of men. (Sounds racy so far, eh? Read on…)
There was not a single whiff of pheromone in the air and all possible sexual overtones were certainly in someone else’s dream somewhere, for they were clearly not in mine. (I’m kind of glad about that. Read on…)
Instead, it was the adorable innocence of a child’s slumber party, only- set in the surreal freak show of my mind, it was a slumber party with around a dozen, (predominantly male, if memory serves), former co-workers and Jeff Bridges.
I was in my best flannel pjs sandwiched in a big cozy bed between a former co-worker and Jeff Bridges. It was weird. We all said goodnight as if we were the Waltons and drifted to sleep.
Why were we there? Why flannel? (I’ve not had flannel pjs since I was a kid.) And why, of all actors, Jeff Bridges? (Who, by the way, looked childishly cute in his footy pyjamas.)
I dunno. But I thought it was just weird enough to share. If you have dream analysis skills, let me know. 🙂