I don’t as a rule like stories that include dreams.
But I just woke up from the most vivid incredible freaky dream. And I had to write it down so I wouldn’t forget it. And as long as I am writing it down…. well, you know…. I’ve certainly created a blog out of a lot less.
Here’s a disclaimer before I start though. I am one of the luckiest people I know – in that I still have my adorable mother. I love her more than any other person in the world. (Sorry, hubby, but it’s true.) But I am narrating this dream verbatim. I’m not tempting fate or anything – just being a good and trustworthy reporter. IT’S A DREAM.
I am in the Hickory Stick Bookshop in Washington Depot, Connecticut. (which carries my book, by the way.)
Amongst the books, they are selling chaise lounges. (I know, I know… but this was the most believable part of the dream. And when you think about it, why not? Reading and reclining are very nice together.)
So I am trying out a chaise, and I am finding it pretty comfortable. I am thinking about buying one.
And Dustin Hoffman walks by.
I do this kind of double-take, like you do when you’re not quite sure you saw what you saw. I kind of rise up on my elbows and crank my head around.
And Dustin Hoffman turns around and walks back to me.
He says, “I thought I just saw Marilyn Monroe walk by.”
“I thought so too, but it was just Dustin Hoffman,” I answer.
“Disappointing,” he says.
“Sometimes that happens.”
“Tell me,” I say. “At home, do you ever dress up like Tootsie, just because you know you look so good that way?”
“Once in a while,” says Dustin.
I think about this a few seconds.
“Will you adopt me?” I ask.
“Adopt? Really?” (You would expect cleverer dialog from Mr. Hoffman, but I guess this part of the conversation took him by surprise.)
“I know I am 65, but you are older than that, so it could still work.”
“Okay, I’ll consider it.”
He starts to walk away. I rise up from the chaise lounge – gracefully, although I can never do that in real life – and follow him to the door.
I say, “Look, my parents are still alive but they are well into their nineties, so I may come up for adoption pretty soon.”
“Are they very sick?” he asks.
“No, they are in very good health. They’re just really old people, and it would suck to be an orphan.”
“Do you have a business card?” I ask.
He hands me a business card that looks amazingly like my own. We have the same taste in business cards.
I hold my hand up to my ear with my thumb and pinkie pointed out, the universal symbol for talking on the phone… even though with cell phones, no one really talks on the phone that way anymore. In a few years, I wonder if people will still make that gesture and then stop to wonder what it means.
I silently mouth the words:
“I’ll call you.”