The Time I Fell in Love with My Serbian Mentor

I was an adult in the dream, but the above picture was too lame to pass up!

Last night I fell asleep in my clothes on top of the bed with the light on, which I haven't done since my early-morning Seminary days, and dreamt that I was a princess. I was the youngest of several daughters, and my parents always dressed me in light purple, while my other sisters each had their own color. I spent a lot of time skipping around the palace listening to my full satin skirts swoosh around me and watching my diamonds glitter in the mirror.

I had this middle-aged Serbian mentor, and then I fell in love with him in true Eliza Doolittle/Jane Eyre/Francie Stevens fashion. My family was not happy about that, so they tried to keep us apart. I snuck away from the palace and tried to get to him at a fancy hotel.
His room was at the top of a truly spectacular steep, wide flight of red-carpeted stairs with gold-and-green embroidered risers that had little handles of the same fabric handles attached at an interval. I started to climb up them, but when the majordomo (a.k.a. my father's flunky) saw where I was going, he ordered that the stairs be collapsed like high-school bleachers. As the tread swiveled and the stairs steepened, I rushed up, clinging to the edges of the stairs. I could see my mentor on the landing far above me, but I can't remember his expression. Finally the stairs became a flat wall, and I hung on the fabric handles. I wanted to climb the wall, but I had no arm strength. The seams of the handles started to rip, and I was forced to move to a lower handle.

That handle started to rip, and then I woke up to see the clock said 2:36 and had a minor heart attack because I'd obviously missed my meeting at 1:00, and then I realized the light in the room wasn't sunlight and I felt better.