Thursday, 24 February 2011

Salad with cabbage and orange roses

I dreamt I was with P. It was summer and we were sitting on a pavement, lightly dressed. We were approached by two bullies, one of which proved to be A. P's sister's fiance. They were talking about various stuff and I found their discussion really unpleasant, so I was just fooling around. We were standing on a steep slope. I decided to lean backwards to see how low I could bend. My hands reached the floor. I was amazed by my flexibility and then thought that once I get operated I will not be able to stretch my skin this much.
Then I saw I was with a cliche American family. Somebody was getting married, probably their daughter. I was associated with her somehow. I was not her, though, because she got into a convertible car and got away. Her parents were sitting on a table together and her father said to his wife that it had been a year since he quit. She asked him what it was he was referring to, it was not smoking. He said it was his foot, or more accurately, shoe fetishism. It had been a year since he had dropped his habit concerning woman's shoes. His wife said she was proud of him. Their dialogue happened without any big gestures or special passion in their voices.
After that, I was among the same people and I was making salad. I had sliced some cabbage and I was about to add orange roses. P. gave me a disapproving look but the old man nodded affirmatively. I continued slicing my roses and I was thinking about their dressing. I also remembered of my mother saying that in order to make a good salad the colors of the ingredients should look good together. I looked at my salad and it looked kind of pale. I woke up and had to get up to go to work.

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