Sometimes I have nightmares. Mostly they’re about having a house and a mortgage and no wings, but sometimes they’re about GIANT TUBES OF TOOTHPASTE. Last night I dreamed that everywhere I went I saw one behemoth Colgate tube just floating through the air behind me. I guess it was about the size of the biggest Toblerone you’ve ever seen… maybe even bigger than those ones you get at Christmas, and we all know those are fucking huge, especially if you’re in America. Well, mind you, everything’s bigger there.
So I’m walking along the beachfront (usually there’s a beach in my dreams for some reason, but on this occasion I am still in Costa del Sol so maybe that’s why) but when I turn around the Colgate is kind of jiggling up and down, like it’s snickering in quite a menacing fashion. I face it, hands on tapas-enhanced hips belligerently as if to say, “I can’t speak out loud because I have a feeling no one else can see you, Mr Toothpaste, but if you don’t leave me alone I will call the authorities.”
Only I was left with the troubled feeling that I don’t know what kind of authorities one would call on a giant tube of toothpaste and I don’t know enough Spanish for that anyway. It didn’t go away. If one dream can last all night that bastard was following me for about six hours.
The obvious explanation for this dream is that I need a dentist, and maybe that’s true, but I also think it could be a metaphor for remembering to smile. One should always smile, even if they’re being followed around by something huge and menacing. Because eventually, that huge and menacing thing will get smaller, and smaller and smaller until it disappears into the horizon, like the ocean.
I hope so anyway. Being followed by a giant Colgate every night would really suck.