I had a very vivid one last night or this morning.
It took me back to my hockey trainer days in Iroquois Falls. (To the uninitiated, a trainer does not train anyone -- hell, I can't even skate -- but is the first aid guy/den mother for the team). Queen Elizabeth was a special guest at the game. She was supposed to be performing a ceremonial face-off partway through the game, not at the beginning of it. The face-off was right in front of our bench. Although Her Majesty was supposed to be performing the face-off, the referee -- who just happened to be a guy I worked with at the TV station in Timmins -- dropped the puck, right onto Her Maj's head.
She swooned, I jumped over the boards and grabbed her arm to prevent her from hitting the ice. She took off her fancy hat (that chick has great taste in hats!) and I removed the toque she was wearing underneath it. There was nary a mark on her royal head, but I called out to someone on the bench to get me an ice pack. I was thinking to myself that even though she was the Queen, my old trick of using an ice pack as a placebo to calm down a player and make him think he was getting better when he was never really hurt in the first place, would also work on her.
Before I could get the ice pack, the Queen's protocol director appeared, announcing that the visit was over, and the Queen must leave. So I let her hold my arm while I walked her around the edge of the rink to the exit on the far side, rather than just leave the ice at our bench, some three feet away.
As we walked, she said she would rather stay. I told the protocol director that it was just an unfortunate accident, and Her Majesty was not injured, but he just clicked his tonight behind his teeth in that tsk-tsk sound, making it very clear that he did not believe that, and the visit was indeed over. The Queen pointed out that she had no say in anything, must obey the protocol director, and that every second of her life was dictated to her.
As we walked out to Her Majesty's rock star bus, I asked if she had ever played hockey. She said no, but that she did ice skate quite often.
As we got to the bus, a huge black bodyguard stepped off of the bottom step, offered the Queen his arm, and shook my hand. The bus then left, and I returned to the game. Several spectators sitting behind our bench cracked a lot of jokes about the entire affair, and roared with laughter when I told them I could walk them home, as I had done with Her Majesty.
Tell me, Dr. Freud, am I crazy? What does this dream mean? Should I lay off eating garlic like it's an apple before going to bed?