I was in the auditorium that functioned as my freshman ward’s chapel (just one of those small auditoriums in the Harman Building at BYU with a pulpit on the front “stage” area). I was walking up the steps to the stage with a handful of other young adult ladies like myself, about to start our rehearsal of the primary program. Except that we were in it and no primary kids. However, it followed the exact same format of a primary program—like where each kid gets up and says one or two lines about prayer or whatever and sits back down.
My group was about to start, but each of our lines was timed with an exact moment in the music the accompanist was playing, and there were a few girls missing. I wasn’t technically up next, but the two girls in front of me were absent, so I walked up to the pulpit to just wait until the music queued me to say my line. As I stood there, looking down at my script and following along with what “11” and “20” would be saying if they were there (why the numbering didn’t follow a logical sequence is the least of my worries with this dream), our teacher, who looked oddly like Ms. Trunchbull, walked on to stage and started chewing my ear off about how I was supposed to start talking and how I singlehandedly messed up the program (k, she didn’t really say that, but it sounds better).
I replied, “Well, excuuuuuuse me! 11 and 20 are missing so actually, I wasn’t supposed to start talking yet.”
She figuratively tucked her tail between her legs and walked off to let us restart the rehearsal. For some reason this gave me a huge feeling of pride and accomplishment so I looked out into the seats where my husband was faithfully sitting, legs up on the theater seat in front of him, to see if he had watched me be so witty and poised putting my teacher in her place.
When I looked over at him, my eyes were caught by someone entering the room. It was Sharon (name changed to protect the innocent), who happens to be Nathanael’s cousin and who I think is one of the prettiest women I’ve ever seen (as a side note, all of his cousins are, if we’re being honest). But in the dream, she wasn’t his cousin—yet. Jealousy clenched my heart as I watched her walk down and sit in his row. She’s totally going to flirt with him, I thought. And she’s prettier than me.
However, the show went on.
A few minutes later, I looked back up at them to see if they were still by each other and GASP! She was rubbing his feet!!
Okay, she must not know he’s married, I thought. Better tell her.
So, in the middle of rehearsal, I walked up to the pulpit, grabbed the mic, and said “THANK YOU, Sharon!”
She called back, “For what?”
“For rubbing my husband’s feet!”
And then they both looked at me like I was crazy and she said, “…….Yeah, my cousin’s feet???”
Then I had a dream about being a computer programmer.