Paging Dr. Jung

Last night I dreamed that Phil and I accidentally crashed into a snowdrift in the middle of the night, but got the car started again and drove slowly through this quaint little village where the townspeople were having some sort of celebration, dancing and singing outside near the road. There were people everywhere along the tiny downtown streets, so we parked and ducked into a restaurant on Main Street so we could watch the festivities through the big plate-glass window. The place was packed with a crowd that can only be described as post-church. We sat there and waited and waited for the waitress — who looked a lot like Edie McClurg with a '50s beehive 'do — to come acknowledge us, and she did once, but she never took our drink orders.

Our patience growing thin, we sat and people-watched.

And sat and sat, the restaurant buzzing around us.

Finally I lost my patience and insisted that we leave that wretched little town.

Maggie Gyllenhaal was there, too, but I have no idea why.