My dreams are rubbish.
Case in note:
Last night I had two dreams. The first? That the heels had fallen off my new high heels and I was forced to wear them as trainers. The second? That I had a baby with my boyfriend. This sounds quite nice, and gooey and sweet until I point out that the only focus of the dream was trying to work out what the child's surname would be. To be honest, I'd have preferred more smiles and cuddles and less administration.
My boyfriend rolled over at about 11am this morning and told me that he'd been dreaming of zombie invasions all night.
Jealous, that I am.