You wake up in terror as a toilet brush dances around you. For some reason you think the torch beside your bed is a gun and that you can kill it; you cannot kill a plastic brush.
Baffled about your predicament, you decide to pull the covers over your head. You can still hear the bristles, and the handle is knocking against your bed frame.
Unsure what to do, you throw the covers off, jump off the bed, and hide in the corner.
The toilet brush gathers momentum, lunges at your face and you scream profanities as you wonder why the toilet brush is tangerine.
In the distance, you hear, “Anna, Anna, wake up!”
Disoriented and sleepy, you say, “Huh, what the! I was having a- huh?”
You partner looks down at you worried, “You had a bad dream-“
“What is that on the Telly!?”
“Anna, don’t worry. It’s only Donald Trump.”
Through tired sobs you say, “I dreamt he was a toilet brush…”