I Only Dance in My Dreams

I dreamt last night that I met a very nice man named George.  I liked him.  We danced.  I do not dance in real life, but it sometimes appears in dreams as an ideal experience, probably signifying a level of comfort with the situation I don't have in life.  

I only dance in my dreams.  What a phrase.  

George and I were dancing, in the middle of a shopping mall food court in New Orleans.  Because I've never been to Louisiana, but I suspect it's a little bit like a 90s food court- pastels and trees and nice, but outdated and crowded with people you only see when you go to a food court.  We won an appearance on some movie, or something, for looking natural and dancing well.  

After this, it became increasingly apparent that George was the man who is going to be my ex-husband in disguise.  Through an elaborate ruse, he decided to attempt to win me back, and it was working.  The dream broke down from there and before I woke up, I was attempting to convince a society of warrior princesses to join me on some kind of crusade.  

I woke up and remembered how nice George was, and then who he really was.  Thank you, brain, your extended metaphor is not lost on me.