What Horrible Haribo Dreams May Come

Job Title: Oversharing Foot in Mouth Person

Job Description: Me and anything Me related

Most of you know I'm a chronic oversharer, but for those of you who don't, I present to you: Exhibit A.

*opens file cabinet, grabs bulging "Exhibit A-Overshare Stories" folder*

Sigh.

The condensed version:

1. Last week I ate lunch with two women. They've always been friendly but we aren't close; one is an acquaintance and the other is more, but we don't text or anything crazy like that.

2. Woman 1 says something polite about her day.

3. Woman 2 nods, says something polite about her day.

4. My turn- I tell them I'm still upset about my horrific Haribo baby dream and explain the whole thing in graphic detail. 

5. Well, halfway through the dream description, I forget the whole story and start on a new story.

6. Halfway through THAT story, I remember the ending of my dream and finish explaining its horrible and confusing nitty-gritties. 

7. Cue awkward silence.

8. After awhile, the women graciously nod and say, "Ohhhh", and take bites from their lunches.

9. I experience self-loathing for oversharing while showcasing my forgetfulness and looking like a lunatic. Again.

10. Woman 1 elegantly grabs her phone. She's probably checking the time, but I'm imagining her fingers sending quick texts like "the rumors are true" and "I bet there's wine in her travel mug". I really don't blame her- I'd be thinking the same thing.

11. Ugh

12. Dear Diary, one of these days I hope to learn to keep my big mouth shut. And I'm still upset about that dream. And I'm craving Chinese food. 

Ahem. Without further ado...

THE HORRIBLE HARIBO BABY DREAM

**Disclaimer: No alcoholic beverages or special pills were consumed before I fell asleep.

The dream: Keith and I were on something like a cruise ship. All of the kids were there but in different places. A couple gave me their baby to care for while they went to dinner. The baby looked funny but I didn't ask questions.

Every time I gave the baby its bottle it would cough and throw up, spewing milk like an out of control sprinkler. I started thinking I should find the baby's parents.

The baby started to shrink and its skin transitioned into a translucent, jelly-like substance.  I held it while walking around, looking for its parents.

The baby shrank some more, fitting inside the palm of my hand. It turned into a cream color, its mouth permanently open. I was completely frantic, searching for the parents.

Now the baby was the size of a large Sour Patch Kid and... please remember this is a dream, y'all... its head detached from its body.

I know, I know.

I ran at full speed, thinking about how I was going to tell these people I shrank their baby and somehow caused its head to roll off.

During my run, the baby's body flipped over and I saw the word "Haribo" stamped along the length of its body.

I woke up, quite violently, upset about my awful babysitting skills and the poor baby who'd turned into gummy candy.

The end.

You see, this is why I shouldn't tell stories at lunch tables. Or babysit. Or leave the house. Next time when it is my turn to politely remark about the day, I will do just that. 

...

Oh, who am I kidding. 

Bucky