My dream began fantastically enough—I had somehow acquired enough money to return to England, but my mom and sister came with me. We wanted a taste of real British culture, so we decided to watch a Christmas pantomime even though it was July. It was in a large tent like Bard at the Beach, except everything was dirtier. The pantomime troupe had very few actors, so they always recruited tourists from the audience to play some of the minor parts. My sister was asked to play one of the big parts, but she didn't want to, so I took over. My role was the poor mother at a meager Christmas lunch, in which my whole brood of five or six kids only had one boiled turkey leg to split between them. Even though they all expected me to mumble in my American accent—which would add to the comedy of the scene—I surprised them all with a clear British accent projected over the audience.
Afterwards, the leader of the troupe—a very tall, very thin woman with pink and purple hair and white face makeup—asked me if I would like to join her troupe permanently. Seeing a chance to stay in my real homeland, I took the job.
Then I woke up for a second and fell back to sleep. I was on the pantomime troupe's tour bus when I decided to go for a jog. We were still in Southwark or Canary Wharf or somewhere like that, and I was really frustrated that everyone I jogged past were American tourists who said, "Hi!" I jogged into an M&S—Americans. I jogged onto a rugby field—Americans. I jogged deeper into East London thinking I could at least meet some Bangladeshis or something but nope—Americans. I mean, I practically took a job in a circus just to be in the UK, and now everyone I met was American. Argh! I jumped on the Tube and went to Kensington.
There I somehow invaded Bonnie Hunt's London mansion. As I was chatting with all the Americans in her house, we suddenly saw a huge swarm of policemen running towards us over the lawn. I didn't even know why the police were there, but we all ran away. And then I woke up.
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