I only ask because, for once, I can remember mine. I was in the highly competitive business of designing fashionable donuts. Our shop was in the Bronx, and the fashion-conscious denizens of Manhattan had to come to us. We were the best of the best; we even had a CEO and CFO to figure out the proper strategies for distributing our donuts. My designs were good – not just good, the best. (Hey, it’s my dream.)
We had hit a dry patch without any great designs, and everyone turned to me to save our reputation. After weeks of experimenting with pizza flavored donuts, stargazy pie donuts (with fresh herring), and marshmallow and pickle donuts, I finally hit on my masterpiece. It was the traditional vanilla, coconut, and sour cream donut with just a hint plum and cinnamon to pique its flavor of leather. The leather, of course, is important because no civilized person would eat a donut without malbec. After baking the donut, I had it deep fried to seal in its flavor and to create a crisp, crunchy morsel at the same time. No true donut aficionado feels satisfied unless his arteries are being clogged while eating.
The real genius was in what I did next. The donuts were shaped into bow ties, which could be worn immediately upon purchase by both the gentlemen who frequent our shop wearing top hats and tails and the ladies who visit us in their strapless evening gowns. This way they would be able to show their good taste to the world, and wait until they became hungry before nibbling on their bow ties. It would also allow them to break out their favorite bottle of malbec to go with their exquisite taste in bow ties.
As with so many idyllic dreams, this one quickly became a nightmare. Our salaries are paid by all donuts sold after the first thousand. Immediately on the perfection of my new donuts, our CEO and CFO copyrighted them without our knowledge, and had only 361 donuts made. To minimize my agony, I’ll abridge the story. They auctioned of the first 360, sending the last donut to the Library of Congress to be archived. They garnered millions of dollars while our shop went bankrupt. They bought the shop for a song and offered me a take-it-or-leave-it deal to come work for them. At that point, I woke up really pissed, which is probably why I remember the dream so well.
It immediately occurred to me that God was trying to tell me something, and I hadn’t been listening. Although I don’t remember anything about cows eating each other, I’m wondering if I’m in for 7 fat years followed by 7 lean years. If I have any readers blessed with glossolalia (or for that matter, if I have any readers at all) please advise. If you write in tongues, please also provide a translation.