Perchance to Dream
I was at a shopping mall-cum-political rally holding what for all the world appeared to be Alistair's infant son, A. Alistairling. My maternal instincts kicking in? Am I going to cross state lines to seize the pre-ambulatory child for myself? I was talking to two sharply dressed young politicos, fellow Republicans, but of the more evil variety, who were laughing at me for my inability to decide whom I should support, Senator McCain or former Mayor Giuliani. Before they could tell me which candidate they thought I should support, and I suspected they were going to say former Govenor Romney or Senator Brownback, we were set to flight by a fusillade of lasers. Lasers? Lasers. I know. I was running through the resultant chaos when my first alarm clock broke the spell. Crazy, wild stuff.