Eating Lunch With the Braggart

I dream every night, she brags. I am wearing an aquamarine chiffon dress, and I am doing the tango. I hate her a bit, for I do not recall even a petite part of my dreams. Last night I was dancing with a handsome stranger, he was wearing a tuxedo, she said. Good. I have never been fond of tuxedos. Now I despise them, and men who wear them. We lived in a gorgeous house, and we looked down on the little people, she said. Her true self is coming into the conversation now. Another teacher in the lunchroom catches my eye. We throw back our heads and laugh. We cannot stop. We are cry-laughing now. What? She asks, having no idea. There is no way to explain.