Stephanie Miller’s table-turning nightmare
I had the strangest dream last night. I was on a school campus. It felt like a middle school or a prep school. I knew it wasn’t the Catholic school I attended when I was growing up because there were no girls anywhere to be seen. It was all boys. Yuck!
Across the courtyard, I saw a group of these boys talking among themselves and looking at me. Their leader, a stringy bean-pole with a helmet-head of hair that seemed wired into place, started leading his buddies toward me. They were all pointing and laughing as they started running toward me.
I was paralyzed with fear. Somehow I couldn’t move. It felt as if I was glued to the spot where I was standing.
As they got closer to me, I saw the glint of something metal flashing in the sunlight. It was a pair of scissors that Helmet-Head was holding in his hand. In a flash, I realized exactly what they intended to do. They were going to cut off my hair and make me look like a boy.
Suddenly (and this is where the dream gets really good) my legs began to work. Instead of running away from the gang, I ran right toward their leader. Before he realized what was happening, I yanked down his khaki trousers, revealing a very strange pair of white boxer shorts. Actually, they weren’t even really shorts at all — they went all the way down to his knees. They were very old-fashioned looking. Immediately, all of Helmet-Head’s friends started laughing and pointing at him. He turned a bright red, threw down the scissors and ran away.
Like I always say, bigotry, is bigotry, is bigotry. I woke up smiling.