At least they sell pants at Target.

So first I have to climb up this 500-foot rock wall and now this asshole expects me to carry him down? Fine, fine. Whatever, jerk. So I piggyback him all the way down. God, my back hurts.

But wait – this was a paved road before, right? The first time I went up here, I was going back to the house of that family I babysat for in seventh grade. I mean, the road kept getting steeper and steeper until it became the vertical climb, but this schmoe was definitely not here the first time around.

So why did I climb back down, only to climb back up again? And again?

Fifth time’s the charm. Or something. On the fifth try, I find Mr. Lazy Ass.

Mom and Dad are waiting for me at the bottom. Mom’s packed my bags for summer camp. Pretty spectacular of her, really, but I decide that I should probably take a peek.

She’s packed my clothes inside a duffel bag big enough to comfortably contain a family of four. I dig through the contents. Sweatshirt. Sweatshirt. Sweatshirt. Sweatshirt. I am becoming irritated. Surely one sweatshirt is enough? And where are my pants? Oh, good, you’ve packed all of my thong underwear. Thanks, Mom.

Why are we in the checkout lane of Target?

I think I need some gum.

Those men were totally following me. I think they want to know what’s in the duffel bag. Just be cool. Don’t make eye contact.

Then I woke up.

One thought on “At least they sell pants at Target.

  1. michelle says:

    Love your dream posts!

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