When my wife Liz got up yesterday, she told me she'd just had a dream in which I was telling her something or other about our chocolate lab Aquinnah. In the midst of my monologue, I suddenly underwent a remarkable transformation. One minute I was a man. The next, I was a tiny tin soldier. One among many.
A great battle ensued among the toy soldiers, and Liz lost sight of me in the chaos. Eventually, we were reunited when Liz offered a $5.00 reward to some kid who ventured into the melee and found me, unharmed. That was the good news. The bad news? Try as she might, Liz was unable to transform me back to my normal-sized human self.
A great battle ensued among the toy soldiers, and Liz lost sight of me in the chaos. Eventually, we were reunited when Liz offered a $5.00 reward to some kid who ventured into the melee and found me, unharmed. That was the good news. The bad news? Try as she might, Liz was unable to transform me back to my normal-sized human self.
I can't begin to decipher the significance of such a bizarre dream, but I doubt that it means anything good. Not for me, anyway.
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