There was a dress up party, again, that my cousin Kayla and her “sister” Sarah were going to, but this time I was going along, just because I wanted to be with them, but at the same time, I really, really, did not want to go at all. I was frustrated and upset with everyone around me, particularly my mom, who seemed like she was trying to be helpful but being totally irrational at the same time. Another addition to the frustration was that everyone else knew what was going on but I did not, so I was on edge from trying to figure everything out and no one would just tell me, and I didn’t have the sense in the dream to just let it go.
At first, we were in the kitchen, but it was more like my Great Aunt Deedee’s kitchen instead of my aunt Cath’s, even though it was my aunt Cath’s house (my aunt Deedee died about ten years ago, and the only part of her house I remember is her kitchen, which I didn’t spend much time in). We were discussing the party/event, and I tried to be excited about it even though I really didn’t want to go. I was trying to push myself to be a bit more open to it.
This woman wearing a lavish gown, with her hair finely curled in shining mahogany curls came and handed me this clear plastic bag with what looked like cheaply made kid costumes, one for a Zorro type character and one for a lady. They had specific names. I was really happy there was a dude’s costume because it would be a helluva lot easier and more fun for me to wear pants and a cape than try to get all dolled up. I opened the bag and pulled out the gown first because it was on top, and I was immediately disheartened. Not only did it look flimsy and super cheap, it looked like the only thing it would fit was a doll. “I bet this would fit my arm,” I said, and pulled the bodice of the gown up my forearm. That’s about how big it was.
Luckily for the purposes of having a costume, I had a lavish sort of gown of dark colors, mostly violet, deep blue and perhaps green, which I was not at all looking forward to wearing because dresses are: 1. not comfortable, 2. Not becoming to my football player’s frame, and 3. I’d have to make my face and hair fancy to go along with the fancy shmancy dress, which would only serve to make me feel and look even more ridiculous. I’d look like a drag queen. I was being pressed to leave, and I felt like I needed more time. I said that I just needed ten more minutes and everyone seemed to be looking at me and treating me like I was crazy.
Then my mom and I were driving, and I was frustrated. We were driving and it was dark in the way that it is dark when there’s a big storm but it’s daytime, the sky charcoal black but light still comes through somehow from somewhere. I said the only reason I was going was because Kayla was going and since she didn’t seem to be going there now, I didn’t want to go either. My mom was like “Kayla’s already there!” and sounded particularly angry with me, and I said “oh, okay.”
So, we got to the place where the event was occurring, and I was hoping I would not be expected to drink because then people might see me as a downer, and I didn’t want to have to go through the bother of explaining why I don’t feel like drinking anymore. Kayla and Sarah vanished somewhere and I went into this women’s room to change. It was full of girls in various stages of dressing up, and some of the costumes were very intricate. This was another reason I dreaded this—I could not blend in with them, and knew I couldn’t. I went into a stall and closed the door, then realized it was conjoined with another stall, and suddenly realized there were no real stalls at all, just a labyrinthine maze of walls, toilets, mirrors, girls and crinoline. As I beheld this green-tiled sight, I turned around, opened the door, and left the room.
There was a food preparation area, and that was where I found my mom and my aunt. I figured I could just help them cook and not bother with the party that I had no interest in being a part of any longer. My aunt was making an oreo pie. She removed a crust from its cardboard pan and transferred it to a metal one, and had a bowl full of ingredients. She seemed to be mixing dough, but when she cleared a place off on the cupboard it looked like there was blood on the cutting board, like someone had just cut up raw flesh on it, and I pointed it out to her, but she just pulled a bowl over the blood and moved down a bit.
She poured a measure of oil into the bowl, and the oil threatened to overflow, and I tried to warn her, but she said “I know exactly what I’m doing,” and the oil overflowed into the container of Oreo cookies—the whole container welled with oil. My mom took the cardboard pan and arranged these things that at first glance looked like onion rings, but turned out to be raspberry cookies. She went to throw them away, but I asked what she was doing, and she said she thought these were just being tossed, and I said something about why would she assume instead of just ask someone, and took a few of the cookies out, trying one to see if they were awful. I said they were fine, and my aunt said, “Why don’t you shut your mouth?”
It didn’t hurt my feelings because I knew I was acting out of frustration, and I gave up trying to be helpful or a part of the event at all. Then I awoke.
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