I had a dream last night, which is remarkable only because I never remember dreams in the morning. But this one was still crystal clear when I opened my eyes.
In my dream, it is the morning of the first day of trial in a case I’ve been working on for a couple of years. I get to work super early, but realize I am not dressed appropriately for court. I’m not naked, but I’ve got on normal clothes: a short-sleeved top and some trousers.
Okay, no problem, I’ll just go down the street to the mall and get a suit. So I drive into this big garage, where, of course, I get lost in the levels. For some reason, I head to the Ann Taylor store, thinking that I’ll just be able to grab a suit in my size off the rack and throw it on with no alterations.
I find myself in a black skirt suit, with tags hanging off of it. Suddenly, I’m surrounded by people who insist on doing my hair and makeup. I’m starting to panic because I realize I am entirely unprepared for trial and haven’t composed my opening statement. And then, over in the corner I see the one guy in the universe who can help me:
Yes, I am dreaming about Mr. Barnard Thompson, the sophisticated concierge from Pretty Woman. He blanches each time I yank the tags off my suit (they keep reappearing), and barks at the minions to bring me shoes that match my outfit better, like he’s trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.
He reaches over gently but impatiently to straighten my collar – and I wake up laughing.
Maybe I’m stressed about work in general and this case in particular.
Maybe I still have a secret crush on Hector Elizondo (and really, who doesn’t?).
Maybe my subconscious is telling me to stop taking my life so damn seriously – or to work a little harder to pull myself together. I don’t know. At any rate, it appears I have Mr. Barnard on my side, and that’s pretty impressive.
After all, he did wonders for Julia Roberts. From this:
to this:
’Nuff said.
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