Two days in a row this week, two different women I work with told me, “Scott, I had a dream with you in it last night.” I stand up a little taller, and ask in an artificially deepened (think dorky white guy does Barry White) voice, “Oh, really? So, what was I doing?” I chuckle a little, looking away so as not to compound the woman’s obvious forthcoming embarrassment as she relates the sordid details.Woman #1 – “Well, you were just sort of standing around in the background. Just standing there. Not doing anything. Really weird.”
Oh… So, in dream-land where I could get away with *anything* I’m just standing around? I could have done that at a high school dance. Oh well, not my fault she has no unconscious imagination!
Woman #2 – “You handed me a CD.”
You know, you would think after woman #1, I wouldn’t have even asked. Nope. Not me. Gotta know. This time, however, I’m some kind of store clerk. Argh!
No flying. No chasing off the bad guys. No hero saving the damsel in distress.
I *really* have to start working on my image.