Dreamed last night that we lived in a commune making sacrifices to an angry god.
Culinary in nature, each sacrifice had a project leader. If the god didn't happen to like the most recent offering, a great invisible hand of retribution would sweep through the village and take the project head away from us, never to be seen again.
We weren't very good cooks.
The last offering (before I awoke) was a 30 foot-tall decorated cake with pink frosting, buttercream flowers and pools of sprinkles. We ran, screaming, as the wrath of the displeased god fell from above. Very much like Vivica Fox in Independence Day, without the heroic labrador and convenient janitor's closet.
I woke to the buzz of someone trimming their lawn.
Our tent-mate groaned, "Who weed-eats their yard on a Sunday morning at 6:30?"
I stretched. "Must be some landscaping company who's employees are Seventh-Day Adventists."
"Cuz their sabbath is on Saturday?"
"Yeah," I continued. "And they're cutting grass so early because they have a sensitivity to...."
"The sun?" my husband provided.
"Yeah," I said. "Seventh-Day Adventist vampire landscapers. Duh."