Zoom in on me. I'm seated at a round table (this looks a lot like my Bar Mitzvah, except I'm my current age), and I'm the only one seated. And it's the only sit-down table in the room. Most of the other guests are milling around the buffet, but a dozen or so are standing behind and around me.
And they are taking turns feeding me. Well, not exactly feeding me, but putting food at my place. It's all very orderly, and we seem to be going through my favorite desserts, in order, starting with my least favorite. But even my least favorite is Good Stuff. Tiramisu. I eat in a normal fashion at a pace which lets me enjoy the food, but as soon as I swallow the last bite of one dessert, one hand takes the plate away and another hand comes from the opposite side to put the next treat there. I'm using the appropriate utensils, too. I go through cream puff, éclair, napoleon, boston cream pie, chocolate pudding pie, black bottom pie, and several I've forgotten. All this time the deliveries have been intuitive, I have not had to ask for anything. But then I ask for my Very Favorite, black forest cake, and that's where the dream ends. And I wake up with the impression that there is no black forest cake to be had. Nobody had thought to order any.
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This dream came to me a few nights ago, I just keep forgetting to write it down. It was after I had started my tradition of celebrating my weight losses with a weekly foray into the forbidden. I had gone to Bean Scene the first time, where they served a napoleon which tasted like it was made with cardboard instead of filo, and then a week later a piece of German chocolate cake from Coffee Society was stale.
