It may interest you—then again, it may not—to know that I had a dream a few days ago in which I finally met and saw the face of the man of my dreams.
Now, let me preface this with an explanation: I dream about Mystery Man in regular intervals. Sometimes, we’re just walking hand-in-hand down a rainy street, which is either very romantic or the stupidest thing ever because in the dreams, neither of us is wearing a coat and we’re clearly at risk for pneumonia, but I digress. Sometimes, we’re just sitting on a couch, watching a movie. Sometimes, we’re yelling at Ian McKellen for no apparent reason. Sometimes, I