I had the weirdest dream last night. I was in South Florida for vacation. That in an of itself was odd, as I really don't like the whole Miami-Dade area. But anyway, I was there. I was on Hollywood Beach. Yet for some reason, every person I had anything to do with kept saying we were in NYC. I kept insisting that we weren't, pointing to landmarks, surf shops, palm trees, and the ocean as proof. It didn't work, and one guy even pointed out that there's a Quicksilver (surf-inspired clothes) shop in Time Square. I gave up trying to reason with them at that point. Then, for some reason, this girl that I was friendly with, but not friends with in High School was there and we agreed to hang out together. So I go meet her at the pre-arranged place, and lo, what does she want to do? Take a square-dancing class. At this point, my dream-world brain just kinda went *TILT*, but I agreed. So we go to some community center place for instruction, and the instructor turns out to be the studio manager from my dance studio. A woman who I'm betting has never square-danced in her life. Anyway, the lesson begins, and she shows everyone what kind of shoes they'll be needing. Ghillies. As in those leather lace-up things used in Irish Step. For square-dancing. Again, my brain tilts. I hold up a pair of canvas ballet slippers and ask if they will do. I don't even know how I got them, but the elastics weren't even sown in yet. So anyway, she says yes, but the entire class is glaring at me for some reason as they all lace up their ghillies. Then the dancing begins. I got paired up with some old guy (anyone who has been to a crowded beach in Florida, think the dirty old man in the 1" speedo), and damn if he wasn't a better dancer than me. In fact, everyone in the room was. I was horrible. And everyone kept telling me it was because of my shoes.
And then, I woke up. Dramatic climax, I know. /sarcasm