Where is Daniel when you need him? Dream interpreter? Dream interpreter?

Last night, I had a doozy of a dream. There was some kind of big shindig going on . . . . um, somewhere. The location was unknown to me, although I knew it in my dream. There were thousands upon thousands of people there. Apparently, I was some kind of important person. I had a team of professionals working with me and following me around ~ getting me ready for the big ball later that night.

Let’s see . . . . there was my agent, Melissa. She was walking around with a clipboard screaming in her phone saying, “That’s all wrong! That’s all wrong! I can’t believe you, people! Read. My. Accent!” Then, she would cover up the phone with one hand, dip her finger into her “no-lid” Carmex jar, smear some Carmex on her lips, lean towards me and say, “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve got it all under control.”

There was also my hairstylist, Gussy. She was a woman on a mission ~ fingers flying all over my hair and talking a mile a minute. I watched in the mirror as she added extensions to my hair and began styling it. My IRL friend, Evon, who is also a beautiful, African-American woman, was coaching her into styling my hair. The funny part was . . . I’m a geeky white woman. The look they were going for just seemed all . . . . wrong. I kept trying to point it out to them, but they were adamant that it would make a statement. “No one will forget you after tonight! Your hair will look just like the signature Gussy ruffle!” Um, ok?

My mom was there. She was directing a handbell choir. Apparently, they were going to make their big debut during the ball.

I was sweating like a banshee and complaining about it being too hot. Edie, who was working on my make-up, was fussing at me for messing up her masterpiece. Then, Pioneer Woman appeared at my side and said, “Take these Kleenex and shove them under your armpits. It works like a gem.” I was speechless.

When it came time for me to get in my dress, I looked through all my bags in horror. Neither my team nor myself had packed a bra. No bra. Anywhere. My Mom, Melissa, Evon, Gussy, Edie and Darcy {I’m not entirely sure when she showed up} were feverishly trying to convince me that the bra-less look was in-style. I looked at them in all seriousness and said, “I don’t care what’s in style. I’ve nursed five babies. Do you know what that means?! My girls need help!”

My Mom said something about, “That’s not table talk, sweetheart.” {That is something she would so say in real life. In fact, she does say that.}

And then I woke up. I had to go to the bathroom somethin’ fierce.

The end. And you’re welcome.

In totally unrelated news, I’ve added two new items to my shop over the weekend. Clicking on the images will take you directly to the listing.

Your loving and weird friend,

Ruthanne