On Gardens #It'sOn

Last night I had another weird dream but this time Kamal was in it. Funny that, since we are now divorced, without returns, thanks again to Islam. For those that don't know, in Islam you can't remarry if you divorce "in threes." That is to say, you declare before God that you divorce them by saying it out loud three times and presto, it is done! Never again can you "legally" marry that person. Thanks Sharia law.

I was looking after a little girl (again) but thankfully I was not feeding her. Instead, we went to the garden (a highly inappropriate reference if you catch my drift) next to our house through the connecting door at the bottom of our garden, instead of going around the house. The garden was owned by Yugoslavians and I was impressed that my little girl knew that by reading the sign. I don't remember a sign but there must have been a sign somewhere showing that the Yugoslavians own the garden. How else would she know?

Then we are walking through the garden and the first plant to my right when you open the door is mangos. Kamal's favorite fruit, if you must know. Again, very improper and over my dead body. But we are not in Sudan or India. We are in some western country (not Mexico either.) Kamal is walking ahead of us. The little girl gets dirty from all the garden dirt so I take her back to our house and give her a bath. She is not happy to be in the bath. I also need a bath. 

I start to take off my clothes but I am wearing multiple layers, like tights or (stockings if you are American) and strangely enough they are white. I am having a hard time taking them off. It is like they are stuck to my body.  I notice that my white pajama bottom is torn and almost looks like underwear. That's strange because the same ones in real life did tear and I cut off the bottom half. At this point ,I notice I am wearing full pajama pants, also white but are not torn. 

I wake up. I remember that my tights in real life are black, of high quality hence expensive, had holes and runs, but I could've still worn them under my clothes. Alas, they are all in the trash because of the purge that happened to me, against my will.

I am compelled to ask you this once again. Please stop Maysa from interfering with my life. I hear her and you shouting, crying, screaming and calling for more time again and again. That is theft, immoral, sinful, heinous, torturous and inhumane. Leave me alone and keep Maysa away from me for good. So help me God.