My Guardian Angel

I have friends who dream novel worthy dreams. Dreams filled with potential love, ass-kicking heroes, and heroines in apocalyptic settings. I have friends who dream of meeting celebrity crushes and discovering they are standing naked before an audience before a huge event in their life. I even have friends who dream that Trump lost the election. I dream of laughter, music and on occasion God and angels. We always have the greatest convos. FYI God is a Linkin Park fan. Last week I dreamt with my guardian angel.
Anyone who knows me personally can tell you I have a gift for getting myself into some hairy situations. From getting caught in shootouts to being chased by a gang of deaf-mutes my guardian angel has been working overtime since the day I was born.
In the dream, I found myself in an office with no clue as to how I got there. The place reminded me of a film noir private eye office. I was ushered in by a tall blonde with huge boobs and a tight pencil skirt. My guardian angel sat behind a desk smoking a cigar and gave me a slight nod by way of greeting.
Everything about him screamed bad ass this was so not my grandma’s guardian angel, no flowy white robe, no blinding white wings or long hair. My guardian angel looked like the criminal type. I was impressed and said so out loud. “My hair didn’t start turning white until you were born, it used to be jet black”.
I woke up laughing.


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