A short skirt.
A Gimmes shirt.
A Jones Soda.
Ain't life grand?

I woke up this morning at 7:16 needing to piss like a race horse. So, when I went back to sleep, of course I dreamt. I was in a bar with Skeeter, Reed, and Nicky the Greek (an odd grouping). It was a very strange bar. It was the size of a warehouse, with crowded rows of picnic tables stretching unbroken from end to end. It was dimly lit with pleasantly thick clouds of cigarette smoke hanging in a air, just as a bar should be. We were seated at a table that was pushed too close to the bar; I was sitting simultaneously at the bar and our table. I spent most of my time chatting with the bartender as my companions spread out to talk to others and then returned. We remember odd details in dreams: I had eight beers. A cute blonde girl sat at our table and tried to sell us a $40 martini; she was in the employ of an alcohol manufacturer and was there to persuade people to buy the $40 martinis. She stuck around long after we made it clear none of us were going to buy a $40 martini. She didn't seem to mind. I think she liked me, because she asked me if Skeeter and I were dating and seemed pleased when I answered no. Then again, maybe she liked Skeeter.... She asked me something, but because of the bar noise (people were having a good time) I didn't quite catch it and asked her to repeat it. I leaned closer to her and she leaned in closer to me. Our faces were only inches apart. She started to open her mouth when my alarm clock exploded into the cacophony otherwise known as the theme music to NPR's The Splendid Table.

I lost her forever. Damn you, Splendid Table!