Scientists are still working to determine whether or not there is a direct correlation between the amount of ice cream I ate last week and the extra 3.8 pounds I found when I got on the scale this morning...but they were able to come up with some conclusive findings regarding my dreams. Apparently my usual already-frightening nightmares were amplified into kick-your-husband, mess-your-bed horrifying as a direct result of my increased sugar intake.
Last night for example: I'm standing in line at a gas station when three men enter, faces obstructed, dressed in ninja black. One of them is carrying a hose and dousing the whole place with water. Another approaches me with a green cup and splashes its contents on me. Seconds later I realize it's not water; it's gasoline and I'm about to die in a fiery blaze of glory. The gas station is surrounded by police cars and fire trucks. The men leave, and then I see on tv that a large apartment building full of innocent people has just been bombed; turns out it really was water and this was just a decoy. Hundreds of people are dead and I've been hogging every emergency vehicle in town because I got wet.
Aren't you glad you asked?
UPDATE: I've just been informed that you didn't ask, so I guess I owe you all an apology for being so morbid without giving you any sort of warning.
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