Morgaine The Cross-Eyed

Oh, what a strange dream!

I dreamed that I was a knight and that I was walking in the narrow gulf between two covered bleacher-pavilions. I had another knight with me. The bleachers had two raked rows of seats and a tilting roof. So, the bleachers were bordered with white fences. A little ass-sized piece of wood stuck out and my friend sat on the fence on the right. But I couldn't get onto the "seat" on the left. I am struggling, cursing my fatness. I make the posts of the pavilion shake and the roof rattle! It's panic and the crowd starts to make fun of me.

Looking around and squatting uncomfortably of that little wooden wedge, I realize that I actually AM in the middle ages. People are walking around in armor and other fantasy costumes — there is a big field, and behind, through the trees, perhaps a town. Where we are appears to actually be a jousting place.

"Look," I say to my friend, "there goes Edmund, the imbecile!" And suddenly, excitedly, I say, "People don't have surnames here. I can just assign epithets to me and in a few centuries, they will BECOME their surnames!" Excitedly, I look at the other people.

A monstrously corpulent, robed man waddles by. "That guy, for instance," I say. "I will call him Morgaine the Cross-Eyed."

Morgaine walks past, unaware that he has been surnamed for the next five centuries ... and then I wake up.