And that tuft of hair on her mound of Venus that surrounded her lips and teased itself into a perfect curl with the perfect color. She was my ideal.

Then I saw my body, scarred — from the cesarean, fat, lined, wrinkled. It was mine. I heard a woman in the background say, Roberta’s breasts are too large. And it’s just not pretty.

You see, the people in my dreams talk, and they are not always kind.

The sand almost burned the spaces in between my toes, but felt delicious. Little stubs of thick and thin palm shoots would poke up into your feet if you didn't walk carefully.

When the plateau melted the blue water came into view. Sure enough there it was- three figures on a mid-sized daysailer. No chop, but close, and the broadsheet was full. Two orange stripes and the number D-850 standing out near its apex.