Last month, I felt like absolute crap. One night, I had gotten up at around 3 a.m. so I could have a one-hour date with my toilet playing Spin-the-Nausea and Seven Minutes in Disgust. It was lovely, really. Also, while feeling sick, I have the weirdest bad dreams, like people chasing after me and some guy being hit in the head by a pocket watch, which then somehow melts his face. Yeah, I'm not even going to question it at all.
So the night after, my tired brain was determined not to have weird-ass dreams and thoughts. My brain decided it was going to be kept busy while trying to fall asleep so it would have less chance of having messed up dreams. (Apparently, that night I thought that the bad dreams were causing the nausea, and not the other way around. Proof of my declining common sense as the hour grows later. Really. Now that I think about it, it's the stupidest reasoning ever.)
So, how did my brain keep busy? By deciding to invent a Fairy Tale. Based on the biological happenings during conception. Yeah, I'm actually serious.
This was the storyline my brain cooked up:
|And then the magical egg grew grass?|