Dreams of a middle-class, middle-aged nature!

I dreamt last night.

I don’t (remember) dream(s) very often.

I had a rather weird dream, you know the kind, where you sort of grasp what happened but not really the specifics. Where the mise-en-scene is what really sticks out in your mind.

The central motif was that my best friends where obviously having a baby. ‘She’ is rather slight in real life, but in my dream she looked like one of those Paleolithic ‘Venus figurines’. Heavy swollen breasts and distended belly. Beautiful, I should point out, and tastefully dressed in white linen, but quite clearly of mother earth proportions. This in itself is nothing strange,  the really embarrassing moment comes from the point in the dream where I am standing next to my wife and we are both looking at our pregnant friend and I’m saying… “I didn’t want to ask if she was pregnant just in case she had put a few pounds on”!

So before I go any further, extreme apologies K, I would never really think that you could put that much weight on.

The dream itself though, was like some bizarre glossy American brochure for clean-living suburban ennui (I know I’m using a lot of italicised words in this blog, it was one of those kind of dreams). It revolved around some kind of pub lunch in the country. I was driving in my dream and I remember my friend throwing the car keys to me across the car park in a manner that summoned images from Littlewoods catalogues. Fathers in their late thirties who are in love with life and the sheer wonders a sunday lunch can bring. I wish I could remember more, but I’m pretty sure if I could we would have been wearing our jumpers over our shoulders, sleeves tied round our necks. We would probably have high-fived or at least slung a rugby ball back and forth in remembrance of our, clearly not lost, youth.

I turned 34 just two weeks back… is this what I can expect now? Is that the magical age? Is the angsty rebellion of my youth finally over to be replaced with passionate discussions over the pro’s and con’s of choosing between a Toyota Prius or a Mazda 3?

I can’t see it to be honest, but it was a bloody weird dream.

Oh and just in case you’re wondering, before the pub lunch was over the baby had somehow been born and was enjoying a good joke with my own seven-year old daughter. Kids today grow at such a rapid rate compared to when we were young, don’t you think?

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Comments
2 Responses to “Dreams of a middle-class, middle-aged nature!”
  1. Don’t worry. You’ll go through a brief Littlewoods phase and come out the other side (nearer 40, like me) just as rebellious and driven.

    Just possibly with less hair.

  2. kaisavage says:

    That’s good to hear, I don’t mind the hair loss as long as I have the rebellion.

    Come to think of it I went through a Littlewoods phase when I was 15, but that was something entirely different!

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