Dear Diary, I had a dream about perfume last night…

A friend & I float into the beauty dept of Nieman Marcus, eyes wide, wallets heavy. We plow past cosmetics counters as associates shout at us abt overnight moisturizers guaranteed to make us look 10yrs younger. The sparkly cloud of the perfume dept finally appears. We pause to breathe in its glory, as we step into the radiant light. We choke. Nearly every counter is gone & a row of dirty bistro tables sits in their places. “Wtf,” I say. “Seriously, wtf,” my friend says. A jovial, Glinda-like assc appears. “Da’faque?” we both ask her. “Can I help you?” “Umm,” we flap our hands toward the bistro tables. A 2nd assc appears. “Did you want to sip on any perfume? Sauvage tastes amaz.” “What is this horror?!” I shout. “Please,” Assc 1 coxes. “I need a favor.” “Absolutely fucking no—“ My friend cuts me off. “We want coups.” Assc 1 smiles, “Free perfume 4 life.” Next thing I know Assc1’s got a vice grip on my arm & is dragging me down a sketchy corridor. We stop abruptly in front of an unmarked door. My friend is gone. “Ready?” Assc 1 asks me. “No I’m not fking ready, wha—“ She yanks open the door & shoves me into the void. I can’t see anything, but I hear a pleasant ruckus, friendly chatter & laughter. Walking forward, arms outstretched, a distant light grows brighter. My vision pulls into focus. I see a long thick curtain. “Oh. Fuck.” “Thank u all for joining us today!” 😧 I see a crew of dancers stretching on stage. “We’ve got 2hrs b4 we need to be back on the floor.” I look around backstage. “Excuse me,” I whisper to a random man near me. “What show..” “Annual talent show, perfume dept.” “Are they..” “The sales assc? Ya. Jérome should be here soon.” “Who tf is Jérome?” “Epinette. He’s soloing. Oh hang on—HEY HONEY!” The random man waves to some guy who’s hopping onstage, greeting friends. The guy hugs a couple pple, then hurries backstage right. Someone tosses him a top hat and cane. “Well, I’ll be damned. Jérome Epinette is prepping for a tap solo.”