Tears trickling down my checks woke me up last week. Was I being chased, robbed, murdered, were the people I love in jeopardy? Were there monsters or aliens? Nope, nada. Then what made me cry in my sleep? I was told I was ugly. It was some sort of beauty contest. We were all in the same burgundy and black tuellish dress, should of known then I was in for a nightmare. A Tyra Bank's sort of doppelganger, only most inferior, had the nerve to kick me out second. Stunned and confused to her proclamation that I had wonky eyebrows, I asked for an explanation. She informed me if she told me everything that was wrong with me I wouldn't like her very much. Very much? Excuse me ma'm, you just wrecked my dream, shamed my eyebrows and broke my heart you're bating a whopping zero. Wench, I hope whoever she is woke up with a zit the size of Rushmore. Wicked women of a dream crusher needs to get back to her day job.
After the obligatory eyebrow consultation and consoling of my spirit, I realized how absurd the dream was. A line from the Holiday flashed in my memory, "You should be the leading lady of your own life..." And your dreams, I'd like to click my heels and get a do-over, to the tune of "Here She Is Miss America", roses and a crown and the wave.
Wrote the above last week, I am now happy to report I got my do-over. I made out with Sawyer from Lost. It was some desert island dream and the only tragic part was it ended. I woke up smiling. Once I was wide awake I felt quite smug and offered a take that Miz T-Bird, apparently wonky eye brows rise to the level as well.