My Little Golden Book of Phobias

I had a dream about George Harrison this morning. He was an area therapist and I had an appointment with him right after my appointment with my other (as in, real) therapist. She was hurt that I was going to see him and neither of us realized that he's, um, dead. So I slunk off to see him, feeling cheap and foolish and shallow.

In other news, I saw this bag on Capitol Hill, Ha!!!

George, you're cooler than Reverend Phelps, even if you're dead. I still love you. 

Kisses and hugs,

Beth