This little piggy

​It started out as a nonsensical dream. 
Rather innocently, in fact, almost whimsically ridiculous. 

I was out and about in a rather nondescript, could-be-practically-anywhere-really, small, iconic looking all-American town with a man, who claimed to be my father. We were going on a father/daughter outing to have a special meal. 

A silly fun meal. 
An all-American iconic meal. 
A hot dog.

A part of me registered that this man leading me by the hand, was in fact NOT my father. But he said he was, and so his authority was set in stone despite the evidence of my memory intruding. 

Plus he took me by the hand, and smiled so charmingly. Surely his role was trustworthy. 

Read More