Last night I dreamt that Don Draper loved me

"Don Draper Wiki" by Promotional Photo. Source: Wikipedia

They're baaaaaack. My odd, more than likely Wellbutrin-induced dreams, that is.

Last night I dreamed that Don Draper left me cooling my heels in an office building lobby while he went up to his office with "an old flame." Some tacky blonde shiksa who worked a perfume counter or ran a flower shop. I can't remember which.

I sat in the lobby for about 10 minutes. It became a lunchroom for office workers, then a "Borscht Belt" neighborhood block party. I figured it was pretty obvious that Don wasn't coming back for me anytime soon. He didn't owe me anything, we weren't a couple. We were "just friends," but there had been some low-grade tension between us, and I had secretly hoped it had been of a sexual nature.

I started to walk home, trying to thread my way through the boisterous neighbors. I ended up walking along the river where I ran into an old friend. We chatted for a few minutes and then he invited me to have a drink with him at a bar downtown. I agreed.

We caught up on each others' news, had a couple of drinks, and I bitched about "this guy in my life" who wouldn't treat me right. I vowed never again would I take his B.S.

The "old friend" invited me back to his place, but I declined. I needed to be alone.

I arrived home and my brother was there, asking me about my evening. I started to explain what had happened, when ol' Don himself rings the doorbell and asks to see me. My brother lets him in and departs. Don says hello. He seems more brooding than normal, then starts asking me questions: Where had I been? Where had I disappeared to? Why? 

When I told him I'd decided not to wait around, had ran into an old friend, yadda yadda yadda, he had the nerve to ask me, "Did you sleep with him?"

I told him that was hardly relevant or any of his concern, given his recent actions and the platonic nature of our relationship.

He then grabbed me, kissed me passionately, and professed his love for me. We then started talking about us and our future together.

And then I woke up. Of course.

Oh, don't worry, I know it won't last. The point is that Don Draper told me he loved me! And I didn't have to sleep with him to make that happen!

The moral of the story? When you're dealing with the Don Drapers of the world, treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen. He fell like a debutante's dress on prom night.

But come to think of it, so did I.

The secondary moral is this: Don't watch a documentary about the Borscht Belt or an interview with Elizabeth Moss right before bedtime when you've got a belly full of fish tacos and lemonade.

You're welcome, world.