20 guinea pigs and counting

A few days ago, I emailed a friend about how I was the guinea pig for trying one of those tips we all get emailed to us, which may or may not actually turn out to be helpful.

This particular one was about applying Vicks Vapor Rub to the soles of your feet to stop coughing at night. I am not the best guinea pig for this one since I have asthma, but it seemed to be helpful enough before my asthma symptoms really kicked in.

And my feet are softer than they have been in years after doing this for three nights now.

Well. The night after that email with the guinea pig reference, I dreamed that I was at a friend's house and we were sitting in her den, just talking and catching up on what's going on in each other's lives. It is a good thing that this was a fictitious friend, because I don't know that I could face any of you if I had dreamed this about your house! As we were talking, I kept seeing a small furry thing zip by under furniture. Finally, after I couldn't stand it anymore, I said words that you would absolutely dread saying to a friend while in their home...

"Was that a rat?!?"

"Oh, no," my (fictitious) friend quickly assured me. "That's a guinea pig! I have several guinea pigs." Well, that was an understatement. On cue, at least twenty guinea pigs hopped out onto the carpet towards the center of the room. (Note to subconscious mind: guinea pigs don't hop like rabbits. But I think that detail was brought in because of a children's book I read aloud that day that had one hundred rabbits in it.)

But wait! There's more!

"That is my rat." And, sure enough, my (fictitious) friend pointed to a very large rat who wandered out among the guinea pigs mingling (and multiplying like rabbits) in my (fictitious) friend's den.

Clearly, the Vapor Rub fumes went to my head.

But at least I didn't dream about doing laundry.