Last night, I dreamed that George Clooney and I were in a reality television show where we fostered a large group of children, along with many, many kittens and puppies.
George was really adjusted well to this reality and did a great job with the kids and kittens and puppies, but the tabloids kept referring to me as "George's Potential Middle-aged Girlfriend," even though we were not dating, just fostering children and animals for a reality television show. I mean, duh.
I was a bit insulted to be associated only with my age and not my scintillating wit or middling okay looks. George was charming, and naturally, I had a crush on him, but even in my dreams, I was keeping it in perspective. Because I am a sane human being, even in my reality show, fostering, Clooney dream. Anyway, George was really flirty, so though we were worlds apart, I daydreamed, in my real dream, about how lovely it would be when George fell in love with me, the older, middling okay looking, reality show fostering woman of his dreams.
I woke up just as we were deciding how to put together a garden. George was really invested in the idea that we install a haha (recessed wall), and I was more interested in planting some lovely apple trees, which was making George grimace because he would have to carry and use that thingy that makes the holes where you plant the trees. I had just picked up a kitten and getting ready to tease George about the producers asking George to take off his shirt while gardening when my child said, "Good morning, mommy! Are you awake?!?"
Sigh. Ah well. Real life intercedes again.