In Sally's recurring dream, what is the one thing that varies?
So there we were in the middle of the dream. George Clooney. Me. We are both clad in Hanes thermal underwear. Tops and bottoms. The bumpy Walmart kind. Plus bright green fuzzy slipper socks. Making googoo eyes at each other across a crowded room. Chilly. Warm. Then I woke up. At least we weren't wearing dropseat underwear on the way to the outhouse.
© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder