I’m at a 2nd hand store trying to get a comic book out of a pile. On the floor paintings are laid up against one another. What is this sudden unconscious obsession with paintings? A priceless one smudges and rubs off. I have a suspicion that I did it but pretend that I have not noticed. A genteel library assistant climbs up on a step ladder. While she is trying to retrieve something from a shelf for me I notice that she smells of wee.
Now I think I know what’s going on here. The day before I had this dream I noticed that an old pair of knickers of mine had a hole in them. I showed my boyfriend. He thought I had a weird pattern on them but on closer inspection (of the non-sexual kind) it turned out to be a damp wee patch. Not very sexy but sadly incontinence never is. As I have said before, I love knickers that resemble underpants and because I have no money to indulge in lingerie pleasures I wander around in knickers that have elastic hanging off them and unplanned shabby ventilation holes. Why buy new knickers just to wee myself in them? It would be like stomping through dog poo in new Manolo Blahnicks. That (alongside the thought of my unsexy knicker elastic) would alone be enough to cause Carrie Bradshaw to spontaneously vomit. Alas, there is no hope for me. I fear that I, my bladder and my shabby undergarments are destined to die a lonely death. Perhaps the knicker elastic situation will become so out of control that I will become entangled within it in the night time and die by accidental strangulation.
No Comments Yet
No comments yet.
Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI
Leave a comment
