Magpie and Muttonfly

It’s not Oscar season.  There are no Oscar-worthy news items floating about - no lists, no speculations, no pictures.  I don’t even know an Oscar.  So where this dream came from, I’ve not the slightest …

I’m backstage at the Oscars.  At first, I’m surrounded by the cast of Twilight.  They’re getting ready to go out for an award of some type or another, when Robert Pattinson puts his arm around my shoulders.  All I could think was he was much taller and skinnier in person – and how I fit nicely under his armpit.  From there I drift to getting ready to present an award.  This had elements of real life.  One, I was petrified to walk the long expanse to the podium.  This is totally understanble.  Me, high heels, a long slender dress, a smooth walking surface and national television do not bode well.  Two, I was inwardly working myself into a dither at having to be the center of attention AND pronounce a name.  What if I couldn’t pronounce the name of the winner?  Luckily I made to the podium.  I must have paid no heed to who was up for the award, however, because the contents of the envelope came as a complete and utter shock.  And the Oscar goes to … me?  ME?!  [looking at the audience]  I won the award?  [looking at my co-presenter] I won an Oscar?  [looking at the lovely person holding said statue] Oh my … I don’t know what to say.  Is this even legal?  I didn’t think I would win since, you know, I’m presenting the award.  That’s a little awkward.  Well … okay … let’s see … I would like to thank my mom …

That’s probably about the time music cut me off.  There’s no way of knowing since – as far as I can recall – that’s where my dream ended.  Still, it’s comforting to know that even in my dreams I’m nothin’ but grace…sigh.