Another Weird Dream, No Airplane, Just Prius

Preface: Last night, we went to our daughter’s favorite Italian restaurant, because their lasagna is to die for.  I didn’t get the lasagna, I instead ordered the veal piccata, which wasn’t bad but also wasn’t as good as mine.

Yes, people, I was blessed with another weird dream. Thankfully, no jumbo jets were involved. Instead, the star of my dream was my car, which is a Toyota Prius.

For some reason, there was a family with a small child staying with us. It could have been my own children’s child, or it could have been my sisters’ (although my sisters all have older children) but I wasn’t concentrating on the parental faces. All I knew was that the mother had to be somewhere, and I had to be somewhere, and the child had to go to school.

I decided to find a mommy’s helper online at Craigslist. This was a bad idea, but I was rushed for time. I needed someone with a driver’s license, and would let the person use my car.

The guy who showed up was what most people would consider to be, well… scary. He had a huge purple birthmark over half of his face, he was skinny to the point of being malnourished or a suspected drug addict, his arms were lined with colorful tattoos, and he was wearing old and smelly clothing, a ripped tee shirt and jeans that hadn’t been washed in God knows how long.

I should have backed out of the deal, but there was too much running around to do in the house. I don’t know what his name was, but I asked him, “Do you know how to drive a Prius?” to which he replied, “Of course!”

For those of you out of the loop, a Prius is a push-button car. You don’t even need to put the key into the ignition, all you have to do is have it in close proximity to the dash, like in your purse or pocket. The gearshift is on the dash next to where you can put the key if you so choose to be that antiquated.

Baby-sitting dude jumps in and instantly I know he doesn’t know how to drive my car. The young girl who needs to go to school looks at the two of us like we’re nuts. The guy smells like he hasn’t had a bath in weeks, and she’s rolling her eyes. He may not even know how to drive at all. I get in with him, and show him how to turn it on, and how to back up. Then I get out.

He doesn’t even make it out of the driveway. Close to the garage, we have a picket fence that is gated. It’s quite narrow, only one car width in length, and on the other side is the house. I’ve hit the fence with the back end of my Monte Carlo, and Mr. D has hit the house with his Tahoe, it’s that narrow.

Finally, I tell him to leave, but then he gets violent. He still wants his money. I throw a 20 dollar bill at him, and then wake up.

I wonder what I’ll dream tonight. I’m making pasta with mild Italian sausage.


6 Responses

  1. Geepers! I told you…cottage cheese!!!

  2. hmmm, stressful dreams involving forms of transport – maybe your unconscious working out something to do with journeys??

    Or a timely warning not to let violent drug-addicts drive your Prius??

  3. I’m hungry for Italian now!

  4. You’re right about the stress, Truce. I’m stressing over my novel and the upcoming conference. I’m probably not going to be finished, although yesterday I went home from work and pumped out 10 pages in four hours. Only what? 40 or 50 more to go?

    Corina… it’s too cold for cottage cheese! It’s 9 below zero, meaning comfort food temperature!

  5. *making mental note not to let random Craigslist guys drive my car*

  6. I wish you had applied for the job, David.

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