The other day, David Attenborough faithfully informed me that when turtles lay their eggs, it's the temperature of the egg that defines the gender of the unborn turtle. Turtles turn into ladies when they're warm.
I turn into a mess when I'm warm. Not, like, all the time. It's not as if I put the heating on and turn into some kind of hormonal Hulk. I mean at night, if I get too hot, I wake up in a semi panic attack type fluster. Unfortunately, last night I fell asleep in my slippers and my sweaty feet have caused me to start my day in quite an undignified manner.
For starters, the dream that finally pushed me to wake myself up was one in which Nazis were having a rally from the top of some London buses in a city I was in. I ran away, as did a lot of people and suddenly I was fleeing African Guerrilla soldiers from Iran with a family who were trying to liberate their tiny children. At least, in my blind panic, I seem to not be too specific in which nationality I am designating to be my tyrannical night terrors.
The worst thing about the dream was that the first leg of my escape was happening in a remote controlled helicopter which felt neither stable nor big enough for my leggy physique.
It's not that I'm blaming David Attenborough, turtles or myself for the issue - it's just that, if I one day wake up having panicked myself into the shape of a turtle then I want everyone to know why. So, now you do. It'll be the Congolese Nazi Iranians and the three preschoolers that have done it. Phew.
No comments:
Post a Comment