For two nights in a row I’ve dreamed of Gwyneth Paltrow.
No rhyme, no reason.
Maybe it’s the part of my brain still coming down from my Kelli Pickler fantasies.
Now the strangest part is that me and Gwyneth are in Grand Central Station in New York and she’s trying to buy a ticket.
I keep trying to get a word in edgewise but she ignores me for reasons that are really pissing me off.
Nothing more demoralizing than getting dissed in a friggin’ dream.
She finally gets her ticket and she begins walking away.
I no sooner start to follow her when she turns around, looks at me and says, “Get Parmesan.”
Now remember, this is a woman that has children named Apple and Moses.
I should have said something witty like, “Why don’t you name your next kid Pork Chop, honey.”
But I didn’t.
I will say she’s damn pretty in my dreamworld.
Now if I can just figure out the deeper meaning of ‘get parmesan‘ maybe I can get to that next level.
Maybe it was damn food dream after all.
Or not . . .
Apple, Pickler and Parmesan.
Say that 3X real fast