Last night, I dreamt I was a champion boxer.

That’s right … a boxer.

At 5’6″ and 123 pounds, I fought in boxing matches against towering, muscle-bound macho men. And I always won.

Apparently I moved quick as lightning, bouncing around so much that no one could touch me (if they did, I’d be flattened). Then I’d slip in and deliver a punch so precise and powerful that those guys would get knocked out cold.

It was down to the final championship match, to determine the worldwide winner. The fight was to be held in a huge stadium. The day of the match, I was wondering around the stadium, talking to people and surveying the scene, when I spotted my opponent across the field. He was sitting in one of the bleacher seats, and he hardly squeezed into it. He was big and blond – probably a Swede.

I walked over, smiled, and said hello. We shook hands and sat down for a chat. He told me his life story. We had a lovely conversation.

Then, I said, “See you tonight!” and walked back to my dressing room back in the guts of the stadium. To get ready, I put on makeup, stretched, and donned my robe.

Finally, evening fell, and the time for the championship arrived. I strode onto the ring next to my blond opponent, and the crowd screamed wildly. Spotlights flared. Then, strangely enough, we bowed to the audience like classical musicians at a recital. We shook hands and waited for the referee to say GO.

And then I woke up.

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