J'y suis jamais allé

We were snuggled up tight like kittens with my arm holding her waist tight so she wouldn't fall into the river. The jut of my thumb grazed her breasts and there was a wall of blazing red frills between her thighs and mine. I shook her awake when we passed Notre Dame. There was a raft that was supposed to be an island with too many people on it so it was in danger of sinking everytime somebody moved.

"Priests!" shouted she for they were priests indeed and so there was a lot of moving because one would kneel down and two would stand up and so on. "Catholics!" At this point my brain gave up on me because nothing was making sense and decided to toss all of us into the freezing water and I drowned. Red frills and ribbon wrapped around my middle and tied me to the bottom of the riverbed while the priests bobbed up and down, drowning and then not, and one would kneel down and choke while two would stand up and so on.

I woke up to the distant sound of a marching band which I assume was the orange lodge because it nearly always is at this time of year and because it makes the dream infinitely better if that was so.