A Man Can Dream...

On the eve of the New Year, after ringing in 2006 in my Jeep, I had the greatest dream…

The dream starts with me standing on a stage wearing the same outfit I had been wearing for New Years. I hear a voice yelling in my direction, “You! Hey you! You can’t wear that! Go home and change. NOW!” In the dream I look down and realize in horror that the outfit I am wearing, although trés chic, is trés inappropriate. I feel as if I’ve shown up for a pool party wearing a tuxedo. However, I haven’t the faintest idea why I feel this way.

The Voice comes again. “No no no! I said you can’t wear that!” It all comes clear to me in that moment why I can’t wear jeans and an argyle sweater. I am a back-up dancer! Yes, the very same as Brittany’s baby daddy. One of the few and the proud. And we are getting ready to go on stage! In the dream the artist I am back-up dancing for is not clear, but it is definitely a type of Janet Madonna Christina Simpsonulara clone.

I run off stage and back to my house (apparently in my dream back-up dancers are required to provide their own costumes. Lame!) and change into what I think is a more appropriate back-up dancing outfit. The outfit consists of gym shorts and a long sleeved white t-shirt under a graphic print t-shirt. I know, I know back-up dancer outfits usually consist of mesh and chains, but in my dream gym shorts and t-shirts were IT!

I get back to the stadium and realize I am late, and have missed the first half of the concert. They won’t let me on stage in the middle of a song so I have to wait. I remember in the dream critiquing the other dancers on stage while I was waiting my turn to shake my thing. Even while sleeping I am apparently thinking mean things about people…go figure.

The second part of the concert begins and I run onstage and start back-up dancing my little heart out. And I must say my friends, I was GOOD! Great even. I shimmied when I should shimmy, hip thrusted at all the right times and even did some flips. I was dancing circles around everyone else and I knew I was the best back-up dancer there ever was.

The next morning, back in real life, I woke up with no recollection of this dream. I get out of bed, and on my way to the bathroom notice that my legs are really sore. Just having woken up, this didn’t make any sense. It isn’t until I see the t-shirt I wore in the dream lying on my closet floor that I remember my night in the spotlight. Every detail came back with sudden clarity. As the details of the dream filtered back, I was at first very embarrassed. I think I even blushed. But then I remembered how good I was in the dream. How I was the envy of every other back-up dancer on stage. Even as I write this I can still recall the feeling of absolute power that only a back-up dancer can know. It still does, and likely always will, make my breath catch in my throat…