Cruise Ship Cross-Dresser Toilet Adventure

This is the second night in a row that I have woken myself up by talking in my sleep.  This is unusual because I only rarely talk in my sleep. I did it more when I was younger, but not much since then.

I tried to go back to bed, as it is 6 am on a weekend, but I didn't have any luck so here I am.
I can't promise any respectable level of coherency.

It starts out on a cruise ship. My parents and I are outdoors in a massive atrium that adjoins to our suite, which is the size of house. My parents are toiling away, doing yard work while I’m frolicking around, doing nothing of importance. Dad wants me to do a task in the yard (I can’t remember what).  When I don’t, he gets upset and continues to glare at me.

I retreat to the lavish 3,000 square feet of our cruise suite to escape the glares, and also to find a bathroom. I go to one, and another, and another… But none of them will do.  All of the toilets I can find are weird and fancy with nozzles and compartments that I have no idea what to do with. I resume my quest for a normal toilet.

I’m wandering around this maze of rooms and corridors, twisting and turning and walking through bedrooms that I feel like I shouldn’t be invading.  At some point amidst my wandering, I start getting dizzy and disoriented.  I’m lost. I’ve somehow ended up in sprawling foyer next to a posh dining area.

In my fog, I walk towards the dining area.  I find the black, gay, cross dresser concierge that I recognize from when our ship embarked and he led us to our room. He is tall and thin, wearing knee-length spandex bike shorts and a women’s work-out tank top. His hair is up in two little buns on the top of his head (similar to Miley Cyrus at the 2013 VMAs). He looks at me with pity in his eyes and speaks to me condescendingly.  As he leads me through the sophisticated diners who are dressed like they’re going to a country club gala, they all look at me as I pass.  They speak French to each other while staring at me and laughing. The gay, black, cross dresser concierge and I ascend a huge staircase adjacent to the pretentious French diners.  I turn back and say over my shoulder, “I speak Spanish, so I have no idea.” They laugh again.

We climb the spiraling stairs, but it feels wrong. Why would we go upstairs? I don't remember going down any stairs in the first place.

We reach the top of the stairs and step out into a dimly lit foyer with much lower ceilings than the grand foyer below.  The walls are a deep plum color, and the carpet is some ugly print (as hotels and cruise ships are apt to use). The cross dresser starts humming/singing and taking long strides intermingled with skillful skips and dancer’s twirls through the wide corridor. He will occasionally look back at me and smile.  He is entertaining to me in my topsy-turvy state, and I’m grinning.

He ushers me into our suite. The room that I enter into is not nearly as lavish as at the start of my dream.  There are low ceilings and ugly loveseats. As soon as I enter, the dizziness hits me full force. My mother and my godparents are standing there looking at me.  The room is swimming. I m suddenly dressed in a bath robe, and collapse, at first, to my bum. I’m moaning and groaning and proceed to collapse again, this time backwards, lying on floor. I put my hand to my forehead and imagine that the cross dresser must be entertained, as my behavior feels very dramatic and theatrical.

"I feel drunk," I wail, as my mother and godparents loom over me, on bended knee.  The cross dresser asks them if I'll be ok, sounding legitimately concerned.

Mom says “Yes, I don’t think she’s sick at all.”

From my puddle on the floor I say "She thinks I'm mentally I'll instead."

And that’s where I woke up, as I said that last part out loud.