Last night I dreamed of Jay Leno.
I was in the middle of cleaning up a potty training fiasco when the doorbell rang. With a mop in one hand and a plastic bag in the other, I answered it. There he stood, in plaid pants and a leather jacket, sunglasses hanging from the pocket.
He came inside uninvited, explaining that he was an avid reader of my blog and had decided to stop by and say hello. I gave him the “grand” tour of our two bedroom palace. He kept making jokes about how messy it was, and I was getting a little irked, to tell the truth.
He especially wanted to see my infamous laundry room. It was in worse state than usual. I opened the door as far as it would go (about two feet), so Jay could poke his head in. He only nodded, awestruck, with the slightly reverent air of one who has just seen the Jungle Room at Graceland.
We went outside and he let the kids play around on his white Harley. It had Rosie O’Donnell’s signature on the seat. Then he asked if I would take some pictures of us together. I did, of course, holding my arm out to take a close up of our faces. He said he looked forward to reading about his visit on my blog, and away he rode, into the Idaho afternoon.
I remember composing the blog entry in my head while I went inside to download the photos from my flash card.
Then I woke up.
I really wish you could see those pictures. They turned out to be quite good.