I dreamed I was in the Raj shortly before the turn of the 20th century. I was not myself, but was instead a young Indian maiden, one who had never been kissed let alone done anything else.

On the first day of spring, there was a festival in this area in which each girl without a boyfriend would sacrifice her favorite dress to ask the gods to send her a lover. At one time these dresses were simply left at an altar, but when the keepers of the shrine started reselling them, the young ladies decided to stab the garments repeatedly to prevent their being recycled.

And then weeks after my sacrifice, I met and fell in love with a wonderful young man, and I didn't have to do the sacrifice the next year. Truly, love means you never have to slay your sari.

Peggy doesn't think this one would make a good movie either.


TEd