I was at a sparring championship of epic proportions. Surrounded by dozens of competitors suited up in brightly colored Lycra from collarbone to ankle and wrist (think Power Ranger outfits). I struggled to pick up on the rules of the match. You must start with your feet shoulder length apart. Then you must hold your right hand flat with your thumb tucked in and place this hand over your left elbow (while your left arm hangs by your side). When the horn sounds you must attempt to hit your opponent in the stomach with your hand. (Your hand must stay flat with the thumb tucked in for the hit to be legal.) Your opponent can stand next to you or across from you when starting the match. For every time that you successful hit your opponent in the stomach, you get a point. The competitor with the most points wins. Needless to say, I was not doing so well, but before long I was caught a glimpse of the reigning world champion in action: my mother. That's right my mother was suited up in her florescent purple Lycra suit kicking the trash out of all of her competitors, be they male or female, young adults, or nearly elderly. While watching these matches I realized I was going to be very late for work and yelled across the room to my coworker, "Hey, we have to leave right now for work. We have to open and we are going to be late." To which she responded "Yeah, we will leave soon. Maybe after the next match? Maybe not? Ok?" In frustration I walked away just in time to see my mother's next match. She was competing against a man in his late forties/early fifties and she destroyed him. I ran to congratulate her. When he gained his composure, he told my mother that he was greatly impressed with her skills and that he had indeed been greatly humbled by the match. He shook her hand and asked if we would like to join him on the British Price is Right. Of course we accepted the invitation.
We entered the studio for the Price is Right (British version of course) and I was shocked to find that instead of the auditorium and stage I was so accustomed to the room was much like a set up for group therapy. We all sat in a circle and shared information about ourselves. Soon the door opened and the host announced that our sparring friend had been selected to try a pricing game and win the next prize! He said (in an announcer voice that did not have even the slightest hint of a British accent), "We know you are a sailor, Chet. You have the chance to win this...a new sailboat! A classic EFY boat of course! (Apparently EFY stands for something else in England??) But that's not all. In this game you can risk the sailboat and take your chances on winning the party boat! But that's not all. You can risk the party boat and win this...a fully decked out extended yacht!!! Now the sailboat is worth $13,000, while the party boat is worth $100,000 and the yacht is worth $2,000,000!! The choice is yours. Let's play the game. Do you want to take home the sailboat or try your chances at winning the yacht?"
At this point I found myself on a balcony at the marina overlooking the three prize boats. I was soon approached by three young men and we began to engage in a heated discussion about game theory economics and how Chet could play this game and most likely walk away with the best outcome. I offered, "Well, he didn't come with anything so he goes for the yacht and wins big or he leaves just as he came. Or he realizes he does not need to be greedy since he came with nothing and walks away with a guaranteed sailboat." Our conversation continued much more in depth when I suddenly looked over the balcony and saw a friend from home (we'll call him Charlie because that is not his name), Charlie's mother, and my mother basking in the sun on beach chairs below.
I left my game theory friends and went down to talk to Charlie, as I have not seen him in over a year. His mother and my mother acknowledged my arrival and promptly left. I sat down and asked Charlie how he was doing. He said he had recently heard that my family was moving to Houston. I told him that was true, but that no one was supposed to know yet. I said that my father had originally been assigned to the Copper Hills Temple. Charlie said he didn't think that was the name of the temple and I said I agreed that I must have gotten the name wrong. Just then an Australian gentleman, his wife, and his sister walked past. We called out to them and asked them if they knew the names of the two temples that had been dedicated early this year. We all said Budapest at once and then the man said, "Oh that one in Utah. Legion Hills." So I turned to Charlie and said that my father had been assigned to the Legion Hills Temple, but that they had recently changed his assignment to the Houston Temple. But as I reminded him no one was supposed to know that yet. He said that is must be ok because he knew. I then asked him how life in Florida was treating him when I saw my coworker again and said that we really had to go to work. She said we would, but that she wanted to see if Chet won the prize.
Shortly thereafter I found myself back at work. I hadn't been there long when a boy (who may or may not be a past or current crush) came to pick me up. As we were driving away from the warehouse, I thought "This is a smaller car. I am sitting very close to him. I wonder what will happen next..." He interrupted my thoughts and told me that we needed to come up with our team name as we would soon be arriving at the game night with other couples. He suggested a name and I voiced my disappointment. To which he said, "Ok, Whitney, what do you think we should call our team." I told him that I wanted to be called the Annihilators. He laughed at me and then kinldy agreed.
Disclaimer: All events described above are from an actual dream I had. My family is not moving to Houston and while my mother is incredible, she is not currently a world champion at hitting opponents in the stomach.
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