Maybe it wasn’t last night (it was
this morning), but I dreamed the relentlessly ringing alarm of the phone of my
husband, the Relentless Troubleshooter, was actually a notification from his truck
tires that the warrantee was almost used up.
Whether the warrantee of those truck tires is used up is not something I
know, you understand, and does not appear on the Official-List-of-Things-I-Am-Responsible-For.
I want to tell you, though, about the
dream I had about my friend, F___. Mind you, her name is not really F___, but
for the purposes of this telling it will have to do.
Two
nights ago I dreamed about my friend F___.
She
was back living with The Badgers, and The Badger Daughter was her roommate. The Badger Daughter roommate was a
nurse for a Jug Band. She wore one of those dusky blue, old fashioned nurses' uniforms to work, complete with a tiny starched white hat pinned to the top of her hair. One night the Jug Band was opening for
David Bowie, and my friend F___ was invited along.
Now in this dream, it was not 1960s David Bowie, nor was it 1970s David Bowie, nor was it 1980s David Bowie. It was more like 2030s David Bowie: very old, very frail, and very wrinkled and spotty. Yet he retained his switched-on zeal. My friend F___ and David Bowie struck up a conversation backstage, and it turned out that they shared a love of polka music, card games, and puns. They could not resist each other, and spent the night together. The startling revelation that my friend was pregnant with David Bowie's baby woke me up.
Let’s get this straight: a
magical entity did not put the baby there, David Bowie and my friend F___ did
it together. Babies are created by a biological process which requires no
intervention by magical entities. You might have learned about it in health
class in 5th grade. I know
this to be true, even in a wacky dream world where a Jug Band has a nurse.
