Hover cars and Faberge eggs

Last night I did something radical - I slept without my phone.  It may be causal or merely coincidental but my dreams were exactly the kind of thing you'd expect to fill a void left by an iPhone.

Early in the night I drove a hover vehicle.  I'm inclined to call it a hover car but for full disclosure must mention that it lacked almost every single distinguishing feature of a car - there was no combustion engine, steering wheel, gears, brakes; in fact there were no discernible moving parts unless you count the big black stick in the front that ostensibly acted like a rudder.  To be honest it most resembled a plywood box, something barely upscale from Calvin and Hobbes.

I rode it proudly, dipping and swerving over the urban landscape as if it was entirely normal to move about the country in a box operated only by a stick and the power of my mind.  I maneuvered through a giant outdoor market, a place I knew well, stopping to talk to friends, acquaintances and even attempted - unsuccessfully but without drama - to pick up a cute new girl on my way.

I also tried to take the hover car (because I refuse to call it a hover box and vehicle is too pompous) to the beach but kept running into residential neighbourhoods and powerlines which is entirely too much of a recently-returned-from-Hawaiian-vacation metaphor to be quite comfortable.

Next up!  I was a 20-something ne'er-do-well, engaged to a wealthy debutante, at an extrememly uncomfortable dinner where I was being introduced to as well as subtly and thoroughly despised by her parents.

Briefly we had a Freaky Friday / Sixth Sense gender moment, and I was walking across the dining room in a ridiculous gown covered with bristly fake lilies, enduring the cold entitled stares of the snooty family who clearly thought I shouldn't have come to the wake for their son.

A moment later I resumed my initial gender and socioeconomic status and my place among the living so that I could Tango with my bride-to-be at our engagement party.

As had been our plan all along, we officially broke off our engagement mid-song, which also happened to be halfway up the staircase, next to the extensive collection of Faberge eggs, much to the relief and delight of her family. 

However the dance was so moving that some of her relatives relented in their distaste and sat around me at my Consolement party later that day to listen to my thoroughly insincere tearful explanation of our parting.

The reason for the staged engagement and breakup was never revealed and my pretend-fiance and I remained good friends.