What happened was this: I was walking down the street when I saw George in his backyard, looking for his cat. Puss, in the way of cats, was in the front yard, completely ignoring George's calls. So I called out to George, letting him know that puss was round the front.
He came through the house and out the front door, smiling broadly, and took puss and me inside.
George and I stood in the kitchen, shooting the breeze, neither of us acknowledging the fact I was buck naked. George kept his eyes trained on mine, as I did his, even though my boobs were looming large on my horizon.
I lay down on the floor to give puss a pat. George lay down behind me and gave me a cuddle (no euphemism.) For those of you who are curious, George Clooney does not give particularly good cuddles. He was enthusiastic enough but lacked finesse. Maybe it was me. Maybe I couldn't relax enough to enjoy it because I was too busy worrying whether George was noticed my unshaved legs. It had, in fact, been a very long and hairy winter for my legs.
George had an appointment to go to, so it was time for me to leave. He saw me to the front door and handed me into my robe – and it was my robe – the pink summer robe given to me by my former mother-in-law.
George complimented me on its prettiness. I noted that he had not complimented me when I was naked.
He saw me out the front door, and as I descended the steps (which weren't there on the way in) he grabbed the belt of my robe and started using me as a yo-yo, up and down the steps he pulled me over and over again.
George, baby, said I, I'm no lightweight. Keep doing that and you'll give yourself a brain haemorrhage, mate.
There endeth the dream.
I woke with many, many questions:
- Why, when my sleeping mind could have worked on something wonderful like inventing a new penicillin, solving world hunger or achieving world peace, did it choose to dream so futilely about George Clooney instead? I mean, how come Martin Luther King got to dream grandly about equality for all men and I got George Clooney (no offence, George.)
- Why was I naked?
- Why were my legs unshaved?
- What was my robe doing in George Clooney's house? Does it mean my former mother-in-law was there before me?