Tripping Down Memory Lane

Last night I had a dream. (I'm leaving off the adjectives for now because choosing just one to describe this thing I had is just too much of a challenge in the time I have.) In this dream, I was at a mall where they were setting up for a scifi convention. (Gee, I wonder where I got that idea--see Letters from Pegasus, which I follow.) In the distance I could see some of the celebrities signing autographs for a few people who had already begun to gather. I noticed David Nykl was among them. He was wearing a white button-down, long sleeved shirt with thin light brown lines running horizontally and vertically making one inch squares across the fabric. Oh, and he had the moustache that he sported in a picture at the aforementioned link. (My dreams are very vivid and detailed, but just wait...) I was excited about seeing David Nykl, but I didn't want to look like an idiot and rush right over, so I decided to play it cool and wait for him at the next place he was scheduled to be. Well, I turned around to go there and saw him in front of me. For some reason, I thought it would be fun to barely brush his shoulder ("accidentally" of course) as I passed by. After I passed him, I began to run like a nit so as to get a good spot in line. I figured he wouldn't see me then, but he turned around and said, "Hey you with the go-go boots and hat, run this way later..." I looked down and saw what I was wearing. Oh, my gosh! I was wearing my mother's brown boots from the 70's with the clunky heels. (But instead of zipping up as hers actually did, these just pulled up--like go-go boots. And yes, I did have a pair of go-go boots in the 70's. Mine were white though.) As my eyes moved up my body, I noticed that I was also wearing my Mom's polyester shirt with the brown lines forming a "V" right in the middle. It had the big collar and matching belt tie. And of course to top it off, I was wearing my mother's crocheted winter hat with the crocheted bill and the big pom pon on top, except this one was brown and not orange. What a dork! (me, not him). I wanted to die.

Now, please note that when it comes to fashion, I hated the 70's. In my opinion, there were absolutely no redeeming features. I detest polyester (for myself anyway), which I was made to wear until the 80's because of an allergy to cotton that (Thank You God) I outgrew in 1974. (Yes, do the math.) I also cannot stand wearing brown or orange. My mother looks absolutely great in both, but me, well, let's just say I would have been better off naked and letting my long hair create a Lady Godiva effect. In this dream, I could feel my entire body covered with synthetic fabric. Ugh! So not only did I want to die of embarrassment, but I also desperately wanted to strip--and that takes a lot considering how modest I am.

If I were to tell Double O Daddy the whole dream, he would likely say what he usually says when I tell him my dreams, "Stop eating chili after 9." But, I suppose the real culprit here is the fact that I am due to turn 40 next week. You know, it's strange. All my life I have wanted to be older, and I have always looked forward to birthdays. When I was a kid (under 18), every birthday meant one day closer to being 18 and freedom. (I won't tell you what kind of freedom I mean, but I will tell you it's not what you think.) After I was 18, I felt that each birthday would bring me one year closer to being respected by others. And although that is not entirely the case, I will say that I feel that people respect me more now than they did then and certainly more than anyone ever did when I was a kid. And now, I don't really care if anyone else respects me because I respect myself. Sure, I've made mistakes--who hasn't? But, I think that even though I still have so many more improvements to make, I am happy with many of the ones I've made so far. And I respect myself because I keep on trying.

Back to birthdays... This is the first birthday that I have ever felt "old." I know that 40 isn't really old, but after having two kids within the last three years and wondering if my latest bout of nausea (that has lasted for the past three days) is something more than a bad burrito--not to mention a bad knee, bursitis, and a bad back--I feel so much older than I actually am. (If I am pregnant, then I think I must have looked at that photo of Paul McGillion too long--see my earlier post entitled, "I Dream of Paul McGillion?" Thanks, Paul.) Oh well, that's life. I just hope I didn't break my nose tripping down memory lane.