Justin, We are Not a Match

Image printed with permission. In fact, you should really just go buy one.(https://www.headlineshirts.net/canada-t-shirt.html#.XQvgDi0ZNo4)

Sometimes, I have exceptionally vivid dreams. When the dreams are good, this is awesome. My first super-vivid dream?­­ A spy chase, in which I was James Bond. (I am a kick-ass Bond, by the way). I think I was about 12 when I had this dream, but I still remember it, the chase scenes, the gun shooting (I’m deadly) but not so much the sex scenes because maybe I hadn’t worked out all that shit yet. And I think I was a boy in the dream so that might have been confusing, as well.

But when my dreams are bad (Grizzly bear attack, shark attack, squid attack, giant animals attack––you get the theme) it’s hard to wake up panting and thinking holyshitineedtohide! It’s less good. Really, it’s not very good at all. My husband can tell you. I have a wild look and need two extra cups of coffee those mornings. Also, I might be hiding in the bathroom, rocking.

The other night though? Yeah. Supervivid.

Turns out I was looking for a date on the internet, perusing some profiles. This could be because a friend and I were looking at such sites for her, and finding, well, less than enthralling dudes, because I guess everyone these days just does hook up sites, but we are too old to figure those out. So yeah, right before bed, I was thinking of her options…

In my dream, there were three or four available guys. There was the dude in the pilled yellow sweater, bald round guy, and Justin Trudeau. And the smiling guy who was certainly a pedophile, but I’m not going to think about that one, ever again. In his profile, Mr. Trudeau was just called Justin, like Cher or something, and his name had a swirly bit under it with a heart. I thought, huh, shirt off? That’s odd, but let’s click this, nipple boy, and see what you have?

I read over his credentials and thought, really? He seems totally unqualified for his job, as Prime Minister? Before that… nightclub bouncer, teacher, snowboard instructor. With those dimples you just know he smoked some doobage and played foose-ball with the ladies far into the night on some mountaintop cabin. Still, intriguing… with the environmental geography masters…abandoned, but still. Did I vote for him? Somewhere in my dream state I thought…yes, you voted for him…it was the environment….but this was in the ether somewhere, dancing in the background like the arouroa borealis.

I click on Justin. Justin seems to like me back so we are going to meet. I don’t know how this works in real life but it must be quick because the next thing you know (insert dream wobble music here) Justin and I are on a date, and he has a shirt on (whew) but there are like five of his secret service people in different tables, surrounding us at the Pinnacle Hotel where we are having lunch. They are annoying me with their obviousness. AND this is a hotel luncheon, isn’t that a bit presumptuous? Or is this place handy because he was going to be here anyway, for some speaking engagement about justice for someone? 

We get to talking. Justin tells me that his life is not as easy as everyone thinks. That he secretly loves Pantera but must listen to way hipper music and only Canadian content, because of the Prime Minister thing. He is nervous and cracks his knuckles which is gross but oddly enduring.

“But surely you can listen to Led Zeppelin if you want to? That’s a god given right,” I said, which made us both laugh even though by the twinkle in his eye, I knew, we had something there, didn’t we. There was a connection.

And then my wedding ring caught the light and gleamed right into his eyeball (that was my dream ethos reminding me to not go there, that I had a dude already right next to me who never pretended to be anything other than what he was, which is sexy in its own right) but Justin INCORPORATED THE GLEAM right into his eye, absorbed it right into his twinkle, like a animae girl with superpowers who is about to destroy you after you let down your defences. At this point there also is an animae person in my dream, Pikachu, which is a giant yellow cartoon character which looks like- I dunno-a fat mouse? Pikachu is loitering at a nearby table, sipping some water from a straw. If this is getting weird, remember, this is a dream, and most people’s dreams are boring and you should never listen to them but I am on a date with J. effing T. but just listen)

Justin then told me, as he held my hand, that he would say or do anything I wanted in order to go upstairs, and that he hadn’t brought his wallet, would I mind picking up the tab? Which wouldn’t normally bother me except, I thought, hold on, I didn’t come here to see your nipples. And then it hit me. I came here to KICK YOUR ASS. This is where one would expect Bond moves and wrist grabbing and gun pulling, but instead I used one finger to push him away from me. I said, “I remember you! You dated my friend!” (this was a lie, but it caught him off guard so I could keep going) You said you cared about the environment and global warming and I voted for you because I thought you were going to do some decent shit, and here you are on a chat site and your smile does not even reach your eyes, it’s a fake gleam, I can see that now, which means we will NEVER EVER listen to metal bands together!” It was all about to kick off into choreographed violence when my daughters face appeared. She says, Mom? 

Mom?

Can I have some waffles?

And I’m out. I never even got a chance to finish my thought, and I think there were a few.

I laid there, panting, it was a half bad/half not bad dream, still, I would need at least one extra cup of coffee. But I did feel like I had missed out on something huge, like telling the Prime Minister to go smoke a pipeline and pay for his own stupid fries.

So, I just wanted to say, if you are out there right now Justin, and if you were wondering why I ghosted you after our one and only date… the one we might have shared in our dreams, it’s because we are not a match.

I deleted my account.

Don’t call me. 

It’s over. 

Nipple boy.