That day, we learned that my dream self is kind of a selfish beeyatch. And it's gone downhill from there. In my latest nocturnal adventure, I faked a pregnancy.
I didn't do it as some sort of grand social experiment. I didn't do it to con a man into proposing (from personal experience, all it takes is a huge bottle of Baltika). I didn't do it for attention, for the maternity leave, or even to use the Stork Parking or Metro Priority seats.
In my dream, I faked an entire nine-month, barf-and-bloat pregnancy to compete on a reality show. I lied to my boyfriend, family, friends (you were there, and you, and you, and you!), coworkers, landlord, and pretty much anyone else I could sink my claws into. I sat through an interminable imaginary baby shower for my unfit unwed motherly self, where I had to play appallingly embarrassing games, all while surrounded by cameras (the cameramen pretended to be from that Baby Story show).
The worst part is that I didn't even win. My fake pregnancy wasn't sufficiently convincing, and I lost to a woman who could make her navel go from innie to outtie with sheer willpower.
Come to think of it, losing was the best outcome. The prize was a Chinese baby and I'm clearly an unfit mother.
In the comments, I dare you to make sense of my dream.