martha by rem.

I hate hearing other people's dreams, but I'll subject you to this:

I was at my high school reunion. I was pregnant. I couldn't drink, but I was hopped up on Benadryl. I asked my friend Jim if he was still writing screenplays, but he said he'd given it up. He seemed to have a sinus headache, so I gave him a couple of my Benadryl and I said I'd hear the rest of the story later.

We all went outside to ride in this gigantic tobaggan, but I couldn't because I was pregnant. There was a terrible accident with the tobaggan exploding wood all over this tunnel. I ran into the tunnel to try to help. I think everyone was fine, but we had to be careful not to let the brakes start a fire or burn anyone.

I carried a little kid up the hill because he wanted to see his cousin. I spoke to some of the other kids' parents. Martha Stewart was there. She asked if I could help her find the bathroom. She wore a red suit. We went into the bathroom and she sat down on the sink. She'd been having a sinus headache of her own.

I asked her the best way to make my own diaper bag. I told her that I didn't have a sewing machine, but that I knew how to sew. She said that I owed it to myself and my family to get a sewing machine that could "cruise along at eleven."

Then Martha and I were chased inside by some angry reunion organizers that were upset to find we weren't helping with the cleanup. Martha and I retaliated by pulling down the skirt of a woman named Beaches, while we chanted, "Beaches, Beaches, we saw your Breeches!"