That's another hot mess you're getting me into ...

I had the strangest dream … 

I was a close friend of President Obama’s son.  But I was also a general ne’erdowell, whom everyone adored, but who frequently ruined things in which I was involved.  I went to a dinner party, at the White House, wherein the Obamas were meeting Monique – half owner of PetCo (who looked exactly like one of my co-workers, and who was wearing a suit once owned by Princess Di).  There was talk that Malik and Monique would soon be engaged.

Michelle, who was dressed like Lucille Ball, gave me a hug, and seemed so genuinely happy to see me.  I felt really loved.

And then I was alone in one of the rooms of the White House, and I really had to pee.  So, I started peeing in a potted plant.  A staffer came in and politely asked me to take it down the hall.  The NSA was requiring everyone to give urine samples, which was convenient since I had to pee so badly.  But I was in a rush, and forgot my cup.  Once in the bathroom, I peed in an old lady’s purse, and then stole her L.A.M.B. bag, so the NSA wouldn’t be suspicious.

At some point in the course of running around the White House with this leaky purse of pee, I found myself in a section of the West Wing that looked exactly like O’Hare Airport (isn’t it called Daley now?).  It would have been perfectly ordinary, except that there was a store, called Professor’s Locker at both ends of the moving sidewalk.

So, then I realized I was late to pick up Adam to attend the Democratic National Convention.  I was supposed to pick him up at noon, but it was 6:36PM when I left the White House.  I don’t recall actually picking Adam up, so I presume I forgot him.  Nevertheless, I was at the DNC, which involved a fashion show.

It turns out, Professor’s Locker is like a Foot Locker meets Sharper Image (with a hint of Sky Mall), and Janet Reno was the spokesperson (and model).  For some reason, I kept calling her Ruth Bader Gingsburg.  She was telling anecdotes about Sandra Day O’Connor.

And then Rick Perry came to the dais.  He spoke, at length.  His wife, Michelle Bachman, was there – with an air horn.

And then I woke up … to a rooster crowing.