8thdayfiction

…and on the 8th day, micro fiction was published on some dude's blog.

The Weirdest Dream

I had the weirdest dream last night.

I was on the red carpet at the Oscars and I was holding Meryl Streep sideways across my shoulders, for some reason.

Well, the reporters kept asking, “Who are you wearing?”, and I kept saying, “Meryl Streep!”

And still, they kept asking me, so I started getting irritated because, first of all, who covering the Oscars doesn’t recognize Meryl Streep? And second of all, holding her on my shoulders was starting to get uncomfortable; my arms, neck, back, and shoulders were all KILLING me.

But they would not stop asking me, so I just started yelling, “MERYL STREEP! MERYL STREEP!“, like, “Come on, get it through your thick skulls, idiots!”

And then, finally, I was like, “Screw this, man”, and I just dropped her. I mean–BOOM!–just let her go, Meryl Streep, greatest actress of her generation, I dropped her on her side as if we were WWE wrestlers or something. But she just got up, brushed herself off, smiled and shook my hand, like, “Nice working with you”, and was on her way down the red carpet on her own, and I was all, like, “She’s a class act.”

Crazy dream, right? I know…but you wouldn’t think so to see my wife’s reaction to it. I told her all about it this morning and all she did was glare at me. Like having a weird dream is my fault and I should feel guilty about it.

You know, I just don’t get her sometimes.

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