Well, I had a dream.
Not of the epic proportions of those infamous words I just pilfered.
Mine was about a mobility scooter.
I’m used to dreaming about Vin Diesel and The Rock and Manu Fieldel and that smart brother from Prison Break (my personal favourite…because he is smoking hot, but also mega smart, and capable of busting me out of prison, should I ever be caught doing anything remotely illegalish). But now that I wear cardigans, lament eye baggage, and finally realize the importance of my superannuation and its gross inadequacy….it seems only logical that the next step is dreaming about mobility scooters, right?
When I say I had a dream about a mobility scooter, it was not in the context of me at age 80 with my baggy saggy beige knickers up around my eyebrows and matching unisex beige slacks with the razor sharp creases down the front.
I was not putting the pedal to the metal of my scooter in a pair of orthotic beige padded sandals.
I did not feel the wind through my wavy permed hairsprayed hair helmet.
Not a liver spot in sight.
Nor a crocheted hanky.
Have I sufficiently exploited the stereotypes yet?In my dream, I was my current self. In all my 25-ish glory. While others were riding Vespa’s and moped’s and looking all uber-cool, I was riding a mobility scooter. Proudly. Happily.
The only credible part of this image, is the fact that, by riding a mobility scooter, I was feeding my bone idle laziness in not having to walk.
Which begs the question : What in the hell does this dream represent?
Am I outing myself for the
Am I subconsciously regretting opportunities missed, never to return. At least, not until the kids are all grown up, educated, employed and independent?
Judging by the fine example I myself am setting for them, I predict this to be around the age of 40 (but the goal-post on that one changes annually where I am concerned).
Most importantly, does this signal the end to dreams of Vin Diesel and The Rock locked in a sweaty and shirtless fist-fight over me.
While Manu Fieldel cooks me a feast, verbalising every step in French (or English, as long as it's in his French accent).
While I sit and watch and sip my wine, being entertained by the fist fight in my honour, as Wentworth Miller (Prison Break lovely) tunes my TV, DVD, VCR, Cable television and Mobile phone into one new miniature device that has only one button and automatically predicts what I want?
Can I please go back to these dreams?
