There must have been something in the barbecue sauce. (To be perfectly candid, I know exactly what was in the barbecue sauce: whiskey. Order some, because it’s the best thing I’ve ever put on a pulled-pork sandwich.)
The entire family was affected. Each of us staggered out this morning, dazed and bewildered, and in almost perfect unison, declared “I had the freaking weirdest dreams last night.” As these things go, we clustered around and shared our tales of the uncanny.
The Deerslayer’s Wife dreamed that she was suffering from cancer. It started out horrifying, as cancer must, but quickly became bizarre, as she discovered that this strange and hitherto-unknown form caused yellowing of the skin. With dream-logic, she decided that the best way to conceal the fact that her skin was bright yellow and her hair was falling out was black-and-purple acrylic dreadlocks. The mental image of one’s mother, yellow and with raver dreads, was not one I expected so early in the morning.
The Deerslayer (husband of the Deerslayer’s Wife, naturally) dreamed that his teeth had all turned to chalk and were crumbling out of his mouth, leaving bits everywhere. (To be fair, I’ve had this dream, as have several other people I know. It seems to be a common one.)
The Minion dreamed that she wore shorts to school and, dreaming in third-person, saw herself from behind and realized that she had prematurely developed varicose veins and strange, lumpy cellulite. She was apparently unfazed by the fact that she could see herself from behind without the aid of a mirror, which would have been the part that freaked me out.
I dreamed that I had suddenly developed some strange, Tourette’s-like disorder and was constantly and uncontrollably dropping f-bombs the way an Independence Day parade drops candy. The Deerslayer’s Wife, being the conscientious woman she is, whacked me soundly for each offence.
To conclude, I don’t know whether this is a recommendation for or caution against barbecue before bed. Either way, last night was entertaining.