I dreamt I woke up to find that I was Keira Knightley. Or someone who looked very similar to Knightley--my eyes were a little more widely spaced, the eyebrows a little more arched, and my hair was a pale blonde that framed my face as tightly as a leather helmet, sort of looking like Rei Ayanami from Evangelion. I made faces in the bathroom mirror, played the protruding lips, basically did everything except what a sensible person probably would have done in Keira Knightley's body.
I then became aware of a tremendous racket outside the bathroom, and opened the door to find a blue taxi doing circles in the foyer, leaving enormous black tire marks on the white carpet. The driver finally got out and asked me, "Is this the mayor's house?"
"No. No, it isn't."
"Oh," he said, sheepish in the face of the Keira Knightley-esque anger. "Oops."
"Yeah. What's your name?" I didn't know what I'd do with his name, but I had no intention of letting him get away with what he'd done.
"John David Knight."
"That's Knight with a 'K'?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Okay . . ."
Then he left and I woke up for real.