Robert Smith can't draw (or unlatch a gate)

 

As trivial as they may be, I'm still trying to document all my dreams.

Last night I was graced by a visit from the lead singer of The Cure. He looked like he did in the '80s, not today's hagged-out version. He had a friend with him, who I presumed was a part of his entourage. His friend was very short and had curly red hair.

This Robert Smith fellow thought a lot more of himself than I did. I wasn't even sure of who he was until I looked him up on the internet. For some reason he was in my dining room, showing me his pen and paper art sketches. He was making a big deal about how valuable they were. I told him I thought they were average.

But he couldn't let it go. He proceeded to argue with me over their merit. I remained entrenched and kept insisting that he was a talentless hack who couldn't even draw a decent cartoon. He became very mad and said, "Well, I was going to give them to you, but now I'm taking them back!"

"Oh, no you aren't," I grabbed them, and we struggled with them, bending and tearing them in the process.

I ordered him to leave. He and his little red headed friend slunk off down the driveway toward my front gate. I could see he was struggling to figure out the chain latch and surmised that he'd be coming back up the driveway fuming, so I went down and met him at the gate. I had to show him how a dog snap operates. He was unappreciative and drove off in an old gray pickup truck.

I latched the gate and began to lecture Jere (who somehow happened to be there) about the correct way to latch a gate. Apparently, she had left a gap that was big enough for Robert Smith and his little friend to enter through. And we can't have THAT happening again. I then spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out some way to hot wire the fencing so as to avoid any future uninvited visitors.