Before I forget it completely, I had this wonderfully bizarre dream last night wherein a band of living mannequins (one of whom looked strikingly like Annie Lennox wearing a bad, curly blonde wig!) were living on my back porch with my now dead cat, Sheba, who was an angel. Although they had fabulous wardrobes, they weren't allowed in the house. Annie, especially, had the habit of opening the sliding glass door and sometimes had to be put off with a stern warning. At night they danced with French men wearing striped shirts and berets, gliding around a non-existant alley to the strains of accordian music and Edith Piaf . But during the day they plied me with tropical flavored Smarties (the only candy clinically proven to raise IQ!) and offered cogent hair and fashion advice despite not actually being able to speak.
Oh, brain, if I haven't told you lately, I love you!
P.s. I really need to find a suitable picture with which to illustrate this post!
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