Where's Freud when you need him?

Last night I dreamt that I was Carey Mulligan fighting cancer in my foot, and then, like in a movie, my dream flashed back to the night that I discovered it. There was a dance performance but the woman who was to do it didn't show up, so somehow I was put into costume and shoved onto stage to take her place. I had no idea what the routine was, so made it up on the spot. At times it was good, at other times it was just plain wrong. At one point, the costume (a sequined figureskateresque blue number) slipped down and it was a bit before I noticed both my boobs were hanging out. Anyway, when the song finally ended, I staggered off stage to where my roommate/best male friend was waiting for me (it was Elena's nice ex-boyfriend from the Vampire Diaries, NOT that I have ever watched that drivel. NOT that he is exceedingly waaaay too young for me, though not for Carey Mulligan. But I digress.) and said "something's wrong". And without any need for more information (it was like he knew) lifted me off my feet and clung me to him and whisked me off to a little alcove where we could be alone. Then he started probing my foot until he found the lump, don't ask me why we both were looking for a lump and not a sprain or broken foot... I already said it was like he knew. And then all the clunging and whisking and probing... I was turned on despite the discovery of a lump in my foot (I KNOW! Finally something good in my dream) and that's exactly when my radio alarm clicked on and wrecked my dream.

It wasn't even good radio.