okay serious me for a second:
A recurring dream I had when I was a kid was one where I would be playing in a large dollhouse. The walls, inside and out were plain gray and it was two stories. It was just big enough for a preschooler or kindergartener to go in, squeeze up the little staircase, and sit in the upstairs room. There was a little play table on the first floor, and a caged red flood light on the second floor. In my dream, I would crawl inside, only to be pissed off that there were other kids in there already playing.
Well, one day my dream came true. I was four or five years old and my sister Alli and I were sitting on opposite ends of the hallway, throwing a ball to each other. I had just had a delightful frozen treat: an Itzakadoozie popsicle. Anyone who has ever had one knows that rather than a wooden stick, Itzakadoozies are frozen on hard plastic tube-thing.
And I had the plastic tube left over in my mouth. Alli threw the ball and it hit me in the face, ramming the hell-stick into the roof of my mouth. Then I went to some children’s hospital or urgent care clinic or something. The reason I told you this gruesome background was to make the public service announcement: DO NOT LET YOUR KIDS CHEW ON STICKS OR STRAWS.
Anyway, I was crying and bleeding everywhere despite the paper towels my father had jammed into my tiny mouth. We arrived somewhere I received medical attention, and I don’t remember much else aside from the paper towels being replaced with a cubic foot of gauze.
Afterwards, however, we came back out into the waiting room and there it was: the house from my dream. It was exactly the same: completely gray, two floors, a little table, and there was even a red caged flood light on the second floor. I asked my dad if we’d ever been to this clinic before, and he said no. Before he could stop me, I ran to the playhouse, crawled inside, and on the second floor was some toddler, playing in my house. I reluctantly turned and wriggled back out to go home.