It's your favorite time, boys and girls!
It's time for yet another installment of Allanna's Crazy Dream Chronicles!
Last night's episode starts with a single gal with her mind more on business than on romance, talked into a group-type date.
So, there I am, getting into a hired car at my mom's. And my little brother (who I do not have IRL, by the by) is toddling toward the car, since we'll take him with us. And the driver doesn't wait for him, saying that he'd make us late. RUDE!!
And the driver takes us over to my friend Mandarin's house (No, her name isn't really Mandarin in real life. But that's what I call her) ... and I head over there to help get her stuff out to the car. Since it's somehow some kind of overnight-type trip.
Strangely, the weird driver (not unfortunate-looking ... but has some obvious personality flaws, so I really don't care for him at all), decides to drive off. I'm in the front seat, unfortunately. Stuck next to him.
And another guy has slipped in the back seat. So it's just the three of us.
Backseat guy, a mechanic, complete with Oil Can Henry's-style hat and grease-stained hands, and I start up a conversation. Since I am NOT talking to this psycho-driver. I'm still REALLY MAD that he couldn't wait for my little brother to walk AROUND the car to get in the other door. WHO DOES THAT TO A KID?!???
So, the mechanic and I chat and shake hands. And I remark that his hands don't feel like a mechanic's. They're not rough and callused. He agrees ... he's a baker most of the time. But has a side job working on cars. Which, of course, is not strange at all.
So we drive and drive and drive. And we stop to spend the night someplace. My room is strangely like my mom's room at her house.
And the weirdo driver comes in, waking me, to try and ... well ... NOT be a respectful gentleman. If you get my drift.
So I don't put up with it at all. I eventually push him off and sock him at least a half-dozen good punches in the face. And another firm one in the gut. And then another below the belt to REALLY give him something to think about. Since obviously, he was only thinking with THAT area.
And the mechanic, having heard the ruckus, comes in and drags out the driver.
And he stays in the room, just to guard. And we spoon. Since I've just had a terribly traumatic experience.
Nothing happens. Except sleeping, of course.
The next day, we have to change out clothes. Which we do. SEPERATELY.
And we only have Victorian (or maybe Edwardian ...) style clothes to wear.
I manage to do my own corset and get my gown on. Because I am an INDEPENDENT, BUSINESS-MINDED WOMAN.
And we end up dancing. Which looks quite graceful ... full skirts do that.
And then I woke up.
So ... you think my subconscious is trying to tell me something?
Or is this just one of those really strange, random dreams?
I don't know. Nor do I really care.
But it's good to know that I might just have it in me to beat up a prospective rapist, if ever I need to do so.
Though I would hope that I wouldn't be heavily pregnant at such a time (hampered mobility, you see).