I Slapped Her Face, Hard...And Later There was Fruit
I woke up with a crazy dream in my head.
Unlike Sergei, who can write about his dreams in great detail, it's rare that I remember the specifics about my dreams. Usually it's just a fleeting moment of one aspect of the dream...money! underpants! wet dripping sex! hummus!
But last night I had a dream so vivid I just had to relate it today.
Because I punched out Katie Holmes.
Sweet little 5'9" Katie Holmes. Tom Cruise's latest little Scientology-approved sex toy.
I have nothing against her, really, other than she's too cute to be MY friend. There's something wrong with that girl, but I can't quite...think...what...OH! She's dating Tom Cruise! And her teeth are too big! I want to crack that smile of hers.
Which leads me to the dream.
I was in a factory that was open air, in the mud. We were doing a play. My daughter was...gasp, shock, horror...Katie Holmes, about age 16. She and I were having a typical mother-teen daughter spat, she refusing to comply with the simplest of demands, acting snotty, talking rubbish. She was dating an older guy who was just a shadow in the corner, but I knew he was bad news. Katie/daughter plopped herself down in front of me and proceeded to tell me everything she hated about me, in a whiny bitch of a voice, her chin all stuck out tauntingly. I listened for half a minute, then I wound up my right arm and hit that bitch across the face...HARD. Her head hit the wall she was sitting beside, and I heard a satisfying *thunk*, and gave myself a 'good job' for a) not hearing bones actually breaking, and 2) for hitting her hard enough to shake her brain stem.
My right ring finger had a huge snail ring, about the size of a golf ball. I briefly thought how much better the slap would have been if the snail had made contact with her cheek, a scar reminder of when she finally pissed off her mother.
Katie/daughter recoiled from the slap and sat dazed for a while. Then she got teary and shouting (what else?) "I HATE you!", ran off. I felt like a dowager queen. Bitch deserved it! I walked away over rows of freshly plowed earth, and over to a craft services table, where I felt just the tiniest bit guilty. I didn't have to hit her, did I?
Well, yes, I did.
Wicked buckets of mom-guilt later, I sought her out to apologize. I found her standing at an old tractor with a paper plate loaded down with fruit...melons, strawberries, pineapple, totally full. She had no mark on her face, and looked placid and relaxed. I approached her and she stiffened only a little (out of fear I'd hit her again? or fear I'd take her fruit?). I looked her in the eyes and rubbed her arms and said in my best sorry-mom voice, "I shouldn't have hit you. I'm sorry."
"That's okay!" she said cheerfully. "Want some fruit?"
And we ate. And walked. And talked. About nothing. And it was all fine.
But nevertheless, I woke up feeling a mixing bowl of emotions: rage, embarrassment, supreme power, guilt, love, extreme love.
I think I'm having issues with Tom Cruise.
Anybody want to join me?