THIS FAT OLD LADY’S WTF WEDNESDAY – WTF WAS IN THAT SOUP

I often dream in stories; and sometimes those dreams stay with me.  I found that MSG triggers very vivid dreams. Last night, I had a doozy.

I was living at “home” – my sister and my mother were there – both upstairs – so I’m thinking this was the Midland Street house – although parts of it did not match the layout of the actual house.

Anyhow, someone rang the doorbell.  I went to the front door and looked through the peephole (something our house did not have) and a young man (maybe in his 20s) was standing there.  I opened the door slightly and he shoved the door open and walked right past me.  I followed him, saying repeatedly, “Excuse me” and “Can I help you” and finally, “WTF do you think you’re doing?”

The man was dark-haired, Caucasian, tall and thin (but not frail).  He had a smug smile.  (He reminded me of that kid who claimed he has a resting bitch face when he was photographed face-to-face with the native American in Washington DC – yeah that guy.) 

I tried to grab him, but he easily pulled away from me.  I could tell he was pretty strong, and I was starting to get worried.  I tried yelling for my Mom, but my throat closed up and I could barely croak.  The guy pulled out a silver baton and said something about breaking all the pretty things in the house.  (Kind of strange, because the house I grew up in was pretty much devoid of knick-knackery.  Something, I never really thought about before – but upon reflection, yeah, we simply did not have a lot of knick-knacks (in fact, I can’t think of any).) 

At this point, I somehow wrestled him to the ground.

He was still being very smug and condescending; telling me that I wasn’t strong enough to fight him, much less hurt him. 

And that’s when I decided, and told him, “Oh yeah?  Then I’m going to sit on you.” 

He was still very smug and condescending, and I did, indeed sit on him.  That, at least, immobilized him.  I still couldn’t call out loud enough to get someone to call the police though.

Since he was still being smug and condescending, I bounced on him. 

That got his attention.  I continued to bounce on him until he was begging me to stop.  He even threw up.  I told him he shouldn’t do that because the smell would make me throw up and I would have no choice but to throw up on him.  (I didn’t throw up – in fact, as in reality, I couldn’t smell anything.) 

And that’s when he turned into a cat. 

Yes.  I squeezed and bounced on him until I turned him into a cat.

He was an all black cat – to start with.  Of course, I got off him, but I kept a hold of him, and little by little, his fur got lighter and lighter – going from black, to seal point Siamese, and finally all white – including his eyes (he was at that point blind). 

My sister and Mom came downstairs and I explained what had happened.  They found nothing unusual about me turning an intruder into a cat by sitting on him. 

As a cat, the guy was very nice.  He followed me around, wanting to be picked up. 

Finally, I was sitting on a bench seat with the cat next to me, and suddenly, he turned back into the guy – only a lot less smug and condescending.

I asked him if he had learned a lesson, and after some thought, he said (a bit sadly), probably not; but he now knew better than to mess with me.

And then I woke up.

I need to look at the box for the Tokyo Ramen we had for dinner last night and see if there was any MSG in that stuff.

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