However, this was one of MY dreams, so naturally that tender scene of universal pathos was interrupted by my having to fight off an organized crime ring being run by the hospice director, who had a bunch of redneck orderlies in an aging Mustang, and I was armed only with a toilet plunger, the broken glass from the parking lot, and my vast irritation.
If I ever needed proof that I am inherently just a cheerful person, it's got to be the fact that my brain can't even handle a death-of-a-loved-one nightmare without deciding it's time for a slapstick kung-fu with toilet plunger sequence. (Or this may just prove that I'm insane. Or, as Grampa Simpson would say, "A little from column A...")
Anyway. Was very glad to wake up. Must call Mom today or something. Brrr.