It's pronounced Ah-nah

I promise--my dreams won't become a running theme here. But I did have to share one more. (This is what happens when I blog after just waking up.)

I'm in New York, only it's also Nashville, but the point is I'm visiting the world's best dessert shop. They specialize in squares--cream-filled, chocolate covered, candy-sprinkled...you name it. Which, incidentally, is kind of a cool concept for a bakery because you only have to ice the tops of the product--imagine the cost-savings....

Anyhow, as always, I'm shopping. I buy two large shopping-bags full of delicious confections. Then I have to step out for a moment to look for a missing goat on a dark railroad, and when I come back in to the shop, one of my bags is gone! Someone has walked off with my $200 bag of sweets! I'm irate, I scream and stomp, but the staff only glances mildly my way. Which is when I realize that they are were-people. So I tone it down, grab my remaining bag, and mosey.

I'm supposed to go to the opera that night, so I've got to get back to my room and change. You can see where this is going: in dreams, the more you need to get somewhere, the less likely you are to get there. At least, that's how my dreams go.

I'm on the Mount Everest-sized escalator that leads into the hotel, going down and away from the hotel for some reason, and lying down. But I'm wearing some really cool shoes. And who should pass me on the next escalator over but Vogue Editor-in-Chief, Anna Wintour. She stares at my shoes. "Great shoes," she states blandly, smiles for a milisecond, and continues on her way with Andre Leon Talley in tow.

I'm ecstatic! Anna Wintour liked my shoes! And it looks like she's headed for the same opera as me--the one I now have little chance of getting to on time. I've got to get to my room and pick out another pair of fabulous shoes to wear tonight.

Next scene: I've found an elevator. As with all elevators in my dreams, it goes sideways. There's a man in a suit, a crying hispanic single mom, and a mopey housekeeping employee. My room is on the 11th floor--which, isn't it weird that I can remember that? I've heard you can't process numbers or letters in dreams. But of course the elevator is only on floor -68. When the door opens, the mopey housekeeping employee runs off with my last bag of sweets. I find myself in hot pursuit of her in a car on the road below, then remember I'm late for the opera.

Next scene: I've found an elevator. It goes sideways. There's a man in a suit, a crying hispanic single mom, and...

I woke up feeling very frustrated.