Dreamtime

Last night's dream kind of made up for the apocalyptic dream of the night before and the chainsaw attack of last week, being funny-weird instead of freaky-weird.

I was in an airport waiting area with my sister. She went to the bathroom and came out muttering about figuring out who did something, so I went to check it out. The bathroom had two shower stalls, one of which had been left kind of scuzzy in the corners. Someone came in behind me to clean up, muttering to themselves about how it must have been James Marsters, how he'd left similar messes in this and that episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and in an episode of something else. I noted the wet prints of bare feet leaving the bathroom from the shower stall, so I followed them back out into the waiting area. There was a very bewildered Mr. Marsters, having just come inside from the pouring rain, wearing rubber overshoes and dripping rainwater all over the floor. My sister was pointing an accusing finger at him:

"James Marsters! I should have known it was you!"