So recently I keep dreaming about hot British men. No, that should probably be trademarked: Hot British Men TM. Definitely capitalized, at least. And no, not those kinds of dreams. Sheesh.
The first time, this guy showed up:
I saved him after a pirate captain made him walk the plank, by calling upon my selkie kinfolk. Yeah. I don't know either, but it was all kinds of entertaining. Pirates! Regency/Napoleonic war-era naval uniforms! Hiddleston in a wet shirt, fighting pirates!
The next time, it was this gentleman:
Which at least makes sense, since I've recently become converted/addicted to Doctor Who, and just finished watching all six seasons currently available on Netflix (thanks Netflix!). In this dream, Tennant (not the Doctor, it was David Tennant) was in the TARDIS, flying along traffic on either Rt. 7 in Virginia or Hwy 40 in Utah - probably both combined. He was very anxious to find something that had been lost, but I was unable to help. Abject failure on my part.
Then, a few nights later, this man made an appearance:
I met him at an estate-turned-bike shop located at the bottom of Provo Canyon, after I biked down the canyon to get there (so, obviously this is pure and total fiction). We had tea and a lovely chat. I woke to the thought that I really must start biking regularly so I can make it down the canyon to meet him for real (clearly, I was not remotely awake yet when thinking this).
All in all, I could get used to this trend. Carry on, Brain, carry on.
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