Last night I had the weirdest dream

I woke up laughing and shaking my head, and I hope you do, too.

Here is the dream. I was visiting one of my business partners in Mexico. This actually happened last week, except in my dream, the office looked like someone’s grandma’s living room. The TV was a wooden cube, there were doilies all over the place, and pictures of all the members of my partner’s team when they were younger. Note that the team is not related, but the 2 owners are husband and wife.

These partners are super clean cut and very much youngish Mexican businesspeople: blazers, jeans, heels, t-shirts. . . neither too serious nor too informal. You get the impression that they didn’t really have a wild phase, and that they are AOK with that. My subconscious, however, did not take it that way.

So, we are in this grandma living room, and at one point I get up and walk around the apartment. When I get back to the living room, a really nice chocolate cake has appeared and I am like “whoa, team! This is a really beautiful cake!” They all look super happy because I clearly want a piece of the cake, which they explain has been soaked in Frangelico.

I kid you not. Frangelico is a word that I guess exists in my subconscious vocabulary.

I, of course, say that yes, I want some of that delicious cake, and I am cut a generous piece and given a fork to eat it. I take a bite and start commenting on “the sponge.” I fucking HATE it when people refer to sponge cake as “the sponge” but in my dream, I AM that dickhead, and I keep saying how “the sponge is dense but still really spongey.” Deep thoughts. Anyways, I claim to taste the Frangelico which I am not sure I have ever had, and then I notice that no one else is eating cake. This I find highly suspect so I stop and kind of ease my way onto the couch and lean back, acting like I am taking a break until I can fit more in. I have had like 2 bites.

At this point, I notice that one of the founders (the guy) keeps going in and out of the room, checking on me and seeming surprised to see me sitting on the couch. So, I start talking to one of his employees. She shows me a picture of herself as a young girl and I am shocked because she is decked out like one of the cholas in the OITNB credits. She starts to explain that she got caught up in the. . . wait for it, because this is where I still laugh. . . TACAMALES CARTEL.

Yes. My gringa mind combined the words taco and tamales to create the name of a fictitious Mexican drug cartel.

So, she is telling me about how the Tacamales were after her and I am just like “how did you get away” and all this time, the owner keeps looking in on me and being annoyed and then walking out of the living room. Finally, he comes in and sits next to me on the couch. I am leaned back absorbing this Tacamales story and he says “I need to take a picture of your hand,” and moves in to my left hand. I am wearing my engagement ring, which I NEVER wear when I travel because why would one open themselves up to that kind of scrutiny? I do have a lot of anxiety around forgetting to take it off before I travel, so that is probably from that.

Anyways, he wants to take a picture of my hand and I am like “fuck no! WHY?!” and then all of a sudden, I understand that the cake is drugged and he is waiting for me to fall asleep so he can photograph my hand and I am like “are you going to send it to the Tacamales?!”

He sheepishly admits that yes, he owes them money, and he thinks that a picture of my engagement ring will prove that he has the money and buy him a few more days.

I am like “I don’t know much about the Tacamales, but that is NOT how cartels role! They will get that picture, show up here, and take my ring AND MY HAND!” All this time, he is trying to get me to stop moving my hand so that he can get the shot. So, I just run out the front door and don’t look back, somehow ending up in a tunnel next to the highway (real safe, right?).

At this point I realize that I am being pursued by my business partners (who claim they are not going to hurt me, they just need to buy time) and the Tacamales (who somehow found out that I am wearing my engagement ring) and OUR MARKETING TEAM because they are like “yo, do what the partner says, we need them to help us in region!” And I am just wanting to get the fuck out of there because it is all too much and I feel terrible.

When I shared this story with my husband his reaction was “so. . . you aren’t stressed about work or anything!” And I am stressed about work, so there is that.

I am also kind of stressed that my brain made up the Tacamales Cartel, which I realized DURING MY DREAM was an insane thing to think, but it was so key to the fabric of the story. Either way, I got out.

I lived to tell.