Usually, dreams are first-person affairs, but last night my subconscious decided to serve up a third-person costume drama.
The hero of the piece was this young Iowa farmer dude who was dating the tomboyish princess of Austria-Hungary in some weird post-apocalyptic-and-yet-Edwardian Blade Runner meets steampunk mashup of a world.
At this formal state dinner served cafeteria style (complete with Tiffany trays) the princess's grandpa snuck up behind the protagonist and tried to garrote him, but it was with a soft rope and was apparently just a joshing Habsburg way of saying "Howdy and welcome to the family."
I don't remember much after that, except the princess was sad and playing cell phone voicemail tag with her friends.
Bring me the Hebrew, Daniel, that he might explain this dream to me, because right now all I can think of is "Don't eat bacon and spinach alfredo pizza for a late supper."