I remember my dreams very infrequently. When I do, they tend to be vivid. Last night, I woke, bolt-upright, sometime around 3 in the morning and said outloud: “I just had a nightmare that Teresa Heinz Kerry won a contest to design Michelle Obama’s inaugural gown, and it was orange and horrible!”
My boyfriend was confused. He has fantastical complicated enormous dreams all of which he remembers in epic scope and shimmering detail each morning, and this did not qualify, for him, as a terrible nightmare.
But it was. The dress was an awful shade of orange (and corals and cheerful oranges are probably my favorite colors). It did not flatter Mrs. O. There was a trail of white Battenberg lace spilling down the front, extruding outward like fossilized papier-mâché spines, and more lace oozed thinly down the sides. The gown rivaled in tackiness the one Esmé Squalor wears in The Slippery Slope, if Esmé were played in the movie by Victoria Beckham. (Which she really should be! …that’s brilliant.)
In any case, I will try to find the time to draw the dress to the best of my recollection sometime this weekend, and post it.
