You know how "they" say

Never to eat shellfish in a month with no "R" in it?

Well, they're right.

The shellfish-induced nightmare I had last night might've had more to do with the fact that the shellfish came from the seafood equivalent of the Little Guy With The Cart With Bells On It Who Sells Tamales. Eugh. Still, I'm not chancing it again.

Normally I'm not a huge fan of Filipino food. The dried fish is good, though rich, and the eggplant has its place, but I just can't get behind the little cakes that might be sweet or might not be. The mussels, though. Mmmm, the mussels.

From the mussels came the dream I had: I was catering a wedding in Chef Boy's absence, but I was doing it *in the hospital*, and nobody had ordered food that week. Which meant I had to deputize someone to handle washing all the dishes and someone else to go for groceries while I watched fourteen patients who all had odd rhythms and ectopy on their monitors.

Never again. I get enough of that stuff when I'm awake. No need to do it when I'm asleep as well.