The Pastor woke me up this morning, interrupting my dream.
I was dreaming I went to the bakery to pick up my birthday cake and they had made it all wrong. I was sampling the cake before I even left the bakery (not entirely unbelieveable) and discovered they had not done a good job mixing the ingredients before they baked it (gross). I complained to the owner. In my dream, the owner of the bakery was the same person who owns one of the German bakeries I frequent in real life. However, in my dream, upon my complaint, they sent out a hot Italian guy to fix my cake. This part of the dream is a bit strange to me because I can’t say that I ever recall a waking moment when I’ve found Italian guys to be especially hot, but in my dream he was. The Italian guy asked for my I.D. before he would make my cake, because, as it turned out, he intended to put my age on the cake. I told him not to do that, and the Pastor woke me up.
Why did he wake me up? So he could lament about the fact that I wasn’t getting up to make his needy self breakfast. That’s what happens when you buy 18 boxes of cereal! Go eat your Apple Jacks mister!
Sorry to be so cranky, it was just a really good dream.
I forgot the punch line!
The funniest part of the story, and I forgot to tell you. That’s what happens when I write late at night.
The story about the Pastor going to the mall with me was really funny because he was walking around trying to figure out how he could incorporate me as a church so when he “tithes” to me he could basically write me off (in a good way). But forget it, the moment’s over.