Florence opened her eyes, waking up on the couch. The gift bags were still there, 15 of them. Normally she’d be in a panic about how she went to sleep without removing her makeup, washing herself thoroughly, or removing her day clothes. But today, all she had was questions. Questions as to why she has imagined her friend, Ollie, to be Harold (Harriet?) Hill, yes, the self-proclaimed “music Professor” Hill. She really couldn’t put together what gender her friend was supposed to be, though the friend in question had kept her rather prominent hips, which showed up quite nicely in the pants she wore for most of the dream.
Hmmm. Those hips. Her dreamy smile disappeared when she recalled that she had been Marian the librarian in this dream, too. That just raised more questions than it answered. Or more that she didn’t want to answer those questions, knowing that this particular friend was straight as an arrow and besides that, neither of them really felt like throwing their friendships on the fire that was romance. Especially now that they were both crawling out of the ashes that were their respective marriages.
Not wanting to waste energy being a worrywart as usual, she continued, Whatever, the clock says it’s 6:30, so I’d better be getting ready for another day of work. Oh well. I hope nobody notices I didn’t wash my hair last night. Should I bring these goody bags with me to work, or could I just swing by the apartment and get them on my way to her basketball team’s party?