This morning I dreamed of being somewhere in Italy in a seaside town built on ancient Greek foundations. Some older guy invites my cousins and me in to see his house. (Presumably my cousins are there because when we were teens, our families used to vacation together at the Jersey shore.) Parts of the house are ancient, the guys Nice-size kitchen in this Pompeian house, but the dead body in the next room is a turn-offtells us, and it’s full of other tourists. I don’t want to go in, because I suspect he’s going to gouge us somehow at the end, plus I’m only wearing a bikini and feel conspicuous, but my cousins run right in, so I follow. I look enviously at other visitors’ shopping bags full of new clothing, wishing I could put something on, and am too distracted to notice much else of interest in the house (if there is anything). We make it through without being asked for money, possibly because it’s so crowded that we leave unnoticed.

Obviously, this was inspired by my exuberant exclamation last night to Hubby of “Let’s buy a 2,000-year-old villa in Italy!” (I’m not sure such buildings are available, but I imagine there are plenty of houses there with 2,000-year-old foundations.) His response: “It would probably need a lot of work.”

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