Ogres are like onions

I had a dream that I was at BP’s house. He lived with two other guys. I was working with him on something in his kitchen, he was at a computer, and he kept extolling the benefits of certain fonts. He was like, “wow, arial round, now that’s a good font!” His roommate was in the kitchen with us, and they were starting to get ready for dinner. BP asked me to help them by peeling this plate of onions on the table that they were cutting. I don’t know what we were eating, but there were like 5-8 onions. I was talking or some such thing, and distracted by the fact that the shirt I had changed into, which I had bought at a thrift store, still had the staples from the tag on the sleeve. The roommate, who was a very introverted guy with long brown hair, noticed the staples and said something, and in a fit of bashfulness, fell out of his chair.

While on the ground, he noticed that the chair I was sitting on had a broken leg. I had bought it at the thrift store, and I had known the leg was not sturdy, but once he noticed it, the chair started to slowly slide to the floor underneath me. I had to acknowledge that I was sitting in a broken chair, and I was pretty embarrassed. I moved to another seat at the table, next to BP, and he reminded me that I was supposed to be peeling onions. The plate in front of me was now filled with onions sliced into circles, without being peeled. I guess they got tired of waiting for me. I sat there and talked to them, feeling content, while I peeled the skin off each layer of onion in the circle.