Presidential jewels, pants optional, another weird dream

Because you people seem to get a kick out of my subconscious, I thought I’d let you know that I had one of those nights where the dreams came fast, furious, and bizarre. Did you know, for instance, that the time between the first morning alarm and actually getting out of the bed is called my caucus time? At least that’s what someone in one of my dreams told me. No obvious connection to Asian geography or political gatherings. Mine lasts anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes. Your results may vary.

The most memorable dream of last night, however, involved a parade, a ring, and president George H. W. Bush. Stop now if you’re squeamish or under ten.

I’m kidding. This is totally a PG dream. You might have to explain what chaps are and why someone would be wearing them in a jewelry store. Type that explanation into the comments so I’ll know too.

Partner and I were wandering the streets along the route of a large raucous parade. Where? Dreamland, I guess. It was no place I’m familiar with. What kind of parade? No idea. Big one. With streamers. And screaming. And costumes. But not a drunk one at night. Bright, sunny, kid-friendly daylight. After watching a few floats go by, we wandered into a store to do a little jewelry shopping.

Now, those of you who know me, will con to the fact that I don’t “shop” for much, especially not jewelry. The last time I went jewelry shopping was nearly fourteen years ago for the fourteen minutes it took to pick out my wedding ring. Now that I think of it, in this dream, I might have been wearing my wedding dress. Go figure.

Anyway, we wandered into a jewelry store, and before I could say “Hail to the Chief,” a young version of President George H.W. Bush walked out from behind the jewelry counter to greet us. He wore a brown polyester leisure suit with a creamy paisley shirt. Imagine the smarmiest seventies leisure suit with the most extreme butterfly collar. Yes. That’s the one. But his pants were the best part. 

Rather than regular trousers, the president’s “pants” were more like chaps, belled widely at the bottom of the legs, but open across the inside of the thigh and crotch. The better to show off his dark-greyish-green, snakeskin-print briefs that matched his pointy-toed boots. 

Yep.

After that? Who would remember what came after that? Not on purpose anyway.

Comments

[Beth Lowe]

Hysterical. Or downright frightening, as the case may be. Love your writing, Dani.

[Eglentyne]

Thanks, Beth! xo