It Must’ve Been the Rum

Posted by beth on July 2, 2009

I dreamed just now that I’d befriended a family that had two sons. The sons were significantly younger than me, but somehow, we’d still grown up together. The younger one was probably 11 or so, and the older one was 18 or 19. I don’t know how we’d grown up together. Maybe I was younger in the dream. Anyway, the older one and I had memories of playing together as children, but still, I know I was older than they were because I had some sort of authority over them. Not sure how that worked.

Anyhoe, we were at what I thought at first was a high school football game, which would have made sense considering the crowd and the fact that everyone on the sidelines was wearing football gear, but it actually turned out to be a high school ultimate frisbee game.

Well, the boys got the idea that I needed more spirit, I guess, so they snuck up behind me with some green hairspray and sprayed stripes in my beautiful locks. I don’t know if they’d been getting on my nerves for a while or what, but apparently this was the last straw. I took the little one and left him with his father, the coach. Then I took the older one and made him stand facing the fans in the stands with his arms crossed behind his back (as if that’s even possible), holding the railing.

He, of course, would have none of it, and the moment I left, so did he. I felt bad about humiliating him like that, so I went to find him and apologize. I found him up on a roof somewhere, talking on his cell phone, and the whole time I was apologizing to him, I was trying to find a chair to sit in that wasn’t broken. I finally found one right as I finished my spiel, and right then Yam (from Caswell) came in with a ceiling fan he’d bought for my grandmother’s house. It was a super-high-tech kind of deal that she would NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS put up in her house, but we told him it was cool.

Then he sat down on the sofa that had magically appeared on the roof, took off his shirt and suddenly turned into George Castanza in the episode of Seinfeld where he poses for the racy photos.

Well, the next thing I knew, George Castanza and the 18-year-old (whose name I don’t know) were reading through a script the kid had written, and it was then that I knew everything was going to be just fine.