When I was young - younger, I mean - I dreamed of girls. Quite a lot actually. As I became older - not older than now, but older than younger - I dreamed of women. I felt this a sign of maturity and hormonal well-being. God's plan in action, at least for us heterosexuals.
So I came to be even older, albeit younger than now - I mean "even younger than now," of course - and I dreamed again of girls. Well-being continued its hormonally eutrophic meander, for I knew then I had become a dirty old man. I liked that. "Dirty old man" has become a term of endear-
ment, of sorts, among the objects of my dreams. They told me that. The "old" part of "dirty old man" is surely hyper-
bole, and the term commonly applies, less endearingly no doubt, to 30-somethings. Among more mature males, dirty-old-mannism is a sign of enduring virility. Last night I dreamed I was shopping for a file cabinet.
I was unprepared for file cabinets and, in one of those out-of-dream experiences, it seemed like I had better things to dream about than file cabinets. In truth, I don't even need a file cabinet. I just emptied the one I have - quite triumphantly I might add - so my dream was no mere artifact of an unresolved to-do list.
Perplexed, I chased the question through sketchy dream-venues. We - I don't know who "we" are, but I am not alone - anyway, we break into that classroom where I sit perpetually unprepared for a final exam in a course I forgot I signed up for - usually Fourier Analysis or some equally opaque topic. Then we swoop and soar though that flying place of mine, waiting for the inevitable moment when I remember I don't know how to fly. File cabinets, indeed. Where the hell are the girls?
Eventually, we come to that lonely stretch of road where I park the car and get out to walk, surprised yet again to find myself stark naked. As always, the deserted road morphs into a downtown sidewalk on a busy afternoon. As always, I stroll whistling back to my car, hoping no one notices. No file cabinet out here. I don't know where my shadowy companion went. Embarrassed to be seen with me, I suppose.
I'm not going to tell you whether I ever found the girls of my dreams; some things should remain untold. But I have a nice file cabinet for sale if you need one, practically unused - it's only been dreamed about once.