Good Morning, Mr. President-Elect

I'm one of those lucky folks who remember their dreams in the morning. Last night's was a doozy.

I dreamed that somehow my family ended up in the White House with the Obamas. Really, I wouldn't make this up. The four of us lost suburbanites found ourselves co-habitating with the new First Family. (OK, they haven't moved in yet. Come on, it was only a dream.)
 
Anyway, the Obamas were very cordial. They gave us a wonderful tour. I remember seeing the White House in great detail and thinking it wasn't all that much different from my old house: cracks in the ceilings, creaking floors, decades of paint locking the windows shut.
 
I suppose Barack and I might have exchanged some deep philosophical or political chatter. If we did, that escaped me. I was pretty much obsessed with the condition of the paint.
 
At night, everyone went up to bed. I stayed downstairs to read and passed out on the couch. What else is new? Later, I had to go upstairs in the dark and couldn't remember which room my family was sleeping in. That was kind of embarrassing. I had to poke my head into all the different rooms to find my crew. Luckily, the Obamas are heavy sleepers.
 
In the morning, we went down to the kitchen and Barack made French toast for everyone. Really good too. Nice and fluffy, with lots of cinnamon.
 
Alas, at that point I woke up. I suppose the dream was a manifestation of my great expectations for the new president. I'm not looking for any deeper meaning. But I am looking forward to going back to sleep tonight. I can't wait to see what the President-elect is making for breakfast tomorrow.
 
 

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Tags: Obama, Barack

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