I dreamed that I was in this combination dance studio / antique shop that was infested with ants and rats, because Uncle Chuckie had put out some Havarti with dill cheese to attract the critters so they would also be tempted into eating poison. Meanwhile, children driven by ambitious parents auditioned for dancing gigs in commercials. Robert Downey Jr. was trying to assasinate the govenor, who wasn't JEB!, he was Tommy Lee Jones. A festive parade of hospitality industry workers interrupted the plot. A museum dedicated to a cigar magnate featured the magnate entombed in a wall in the museum; his head was sticking out of the wall. I turned to tell the heir of the magnate that the head was freaking me out; Mum said, "no, don't tell him that!" and I saw that the heir had no eyes. And then I went furniture shopping with my nieces and nephews at one of those "furniture just for kids" shops, and was incensed to see that kids were offered amazing antique pieces of furniture.