MissSix: (insistently knocking on my bedroom door) MOM!
Me: mmmpghhrhnh…WHAT?
Me: (looking at clock, rolling eyes in the dark) WHAT?? You don’t have a leech on your hip.
MissSix: Yes I do! It’s a brown spot and it is a leech!
Me: It’s not a leech! GO BACK TO BED!
MissSix: HUH! (stalks off, slams her door)

I remind myself, in my comatard sleep state, that I am not a London druggist in 1835 and therefore it is extremely unlikely that any leech bloodletting would be going on in my house. I also am grateful that I don’t have nightmares about leeches on me. One more thing to add to the SHIT I AM THANKFUL FOR list that people say you should make every so often to build life perspective. People and their ideas…HUH!

But instead of falling back to sleep, I start thinking about leeches. How on earth did anyone convince ANYONE to actually allow the placement of live leeches inside their mouths and throat???? Good god! I don’t care what malady I had – if I had to choose between a nasty Dickensian gutter-style death with Wackford Squeers kicking me as I lie prone and pestilential, or wiggling repulsive leeches in my mouth, I am going straight for the gutter. No question.

From this I move on to thinking that people will pretty much go along with whatever some “expert” tells them to do, or be, or have, or enjoy, or not enjoy. I roam further into my half-sleep ponderings, and imagine setting up a restaurant that would serve only the most vile things on the planet, yet marketed in such a way that my customers would scramble to book a table years in advance. Oh, the fun one could have with this! The name of the restaurant would be LEECHES, and would have no address and no phone number, like a rave – you could only find it through word-of-mouth and it would constantly change at the last minute. It would have the cool and trendy DYING to get in. Prix Fixe, of course, upwardly changeable if I need a new pair of awesome thigh-high boots:


First Course: Pan Seared Hyena Anus With Pickled Milk
Salad Course: Field Greens, Scottish Organically-Farmed Leeches, Hand-Gathered Springbok Numbles, Durian Fruit, Drizzled With A Diesel Vinaigrette
Soup Course: Truffled Puree Of Mind
Main Course: Caramelized Kitten Au Jus, Pesto Algae Blooms, Poached And Frothed Pancreas
Cheese Course: Transient Fromunda, Aged Hay Crisps, Pear and Goat Testicle Chutney
Dessert Course: Crème Barium Sulfate, Boone’s Farm reduction, Trout Sorbet
Coffee: That Kind That That Little Jungle Animal Eats And Craps Out That Is Super-Expensive, HA HA

Eventually, I drift off back to sleep, no doubt guffawing in my dreams about my wonderful restaurant. When I wake up, it is another Snow Day, this time with actual snow. No leeches in sight. Other than the kids, of course. HA.