Naked at Your Class Reunion…

This week, I dreamt I am naked at my high school reunion. Many things are humorous about this aside from the nakedness, which is laughable in itself, what with people running away, laughing and shielding their eyes. The really funny part is the high school thing. I rarely, if ever, think of high school.

Being one of those girls who did not find high school all that much of a laugh riot, rarely do I dwell on Farrah Fawcett haircuts, general akwardness, back biting girls, starvation diets, the Bay City Rollers and Kiss. Well, actually I do think of Kiss every now and then because who could forget Rock n Roll All Night all that facepaint and tongue, am I right? And then they went bare face for the Forever video. Not to mention a girl’s first drummer crush, Peter Criss. And those boots. It’s an endless list of fascination, is it not?

So it strikes me as odd mulling over the nighttime journey that my subconscious would plunk me down naked amongst the high school gang. Investigation is the answer. Am I searching for something from the past or am I just longing for my 17-year-old body? Did you ever stop to think what you’d do back then if you had your present day knowledge–filled with the proof you see in the mirror each morning that your banging bod was a temporary gift? Would you have used it? Would you have shown it off like a Scottsdale girl with store bought boobs? Think about that for a while. The mind wanders further–Is there someone I should get in touch with? Do I need additional education? Why the hell am I naked and why do I care?

So, google, my research pal, sends me to many sources for dream interpretation. Seems naked in dreams is not uncommon. Evidently people do it all the time. Who knew? It signifies, of course, vulnerability and shame. Unless you are unabashedly naked–in that case you are pretty badass.

According to something called Your Islamic Dreams, no lie, it’s real. Look it up. If one is naked in an assembly or a party, they are about to be exposed or defamed. Or get a divorce or lose their job or power or be plagued by scandal. Lesson: don’t dream in Islamic. Nothing good can come of it.

In more traditional dream interpretation, like Dream Dictionary, if one is naked in a classroom, people will find out who you really are. Nothing to worry about here. Everything’s already been laid bare, so to speak. Got 99 problems and secrecy ain’t one. It is also said that if people don’t notice you are naked, it indicates your problems are bigger in your mind than in anyone else’s. Isn’t this always true? I know I don’t generally find other’s problems all that big a deal but I do shake my head and tsk tsk in all the right places. Like the old saying: If we all threw our problems in a pile, we’d still pick out our own. I might call bullshit on that one. Just sayin. The dead husband thing; I don’t know that anyone would re-pick that one.

So in this particular dream, I am naked, having casual conversation with a girl whose name I would struggle to recall if I saw her on the street. I am elated to see her. Hugged her in all my nakedness and chatted it up like old pals. We talk with many friends, none of which were my friends when I was there. All the while I am naked, carrying three metal poles, a robe and two pair of matching shorts. Go figure.

With a robe and two pair of shorts–I never wear shorts by the way. Thighs ladies, thighs. You know my pain. Carrying these items about, I have the ability to dress myself. It’s not like a bear stole my clothing and I am left bereft of things to throw on my person. I have access to shorts and a robe. Although these would not be my chosen garb, I guarantee had my wits been about me, shorts and a robe would do in a pinch. Regardless that they are made of a little brown check material and appear kind of scratchy.

And what’s with the metal poles? Hoisted over my shoulder; I have to watch where I walk and call attention to myself as I maneuver through doorways. All the while, no one is affected in the least by my nakedness. Here’s where the story falls apart.

Human nature being what it is, the sight of any naked person bandying about, especially at a class reunion, might create a bit of a stir. But toss in there, a woman who has birthed three ten-pounders, gets wider in the ass on a daily basis and droops in all the places old ladies do is cast nary a glance of disgust? C’mon. I did, however, have perfect makeup and my curls were divine. And there were pearls, thank God. My intent, given that I’m carrying shorts and a robe must be to sometime dress myself, non? I do not appear inebriated in any way. In fact, I seem quite calm. Not proud, just calm.

I can make neither heads nor tails of the meaning of the dream. I’m not getting a divorce as there is no husband to kick to the curb. If I lose my job, I simply get another. I have nothing that has not previously been exposed, mostly through my own typing. There is one thing different about this week and therein may lie the culprit.

I had no wine. Trying desperately to diminish the size of my ass, I have been eating healthy and not having wine. Perhaps my body is in detox. Perhaps I’m carrying metal poles to gouge my eyes out when the going gets tough. Perhaps I’m carrying shorts because when I’m thin enough I will wear them again. Nah–that’s not it. The thigh thing and all. No explanation for the robe.

I think healthy eating is overrated. Four pounds down and the price I pay is walking around my class reunion naked? Pfft.


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