So last Friday at the Erma Bombeck Humor Writers’ Conference in Dayton my friend Judith’s favorite pair of cowboy boots started coming apart. The top of the boot was pulling away from the sole. She thought about asking for duct tape at the Marriott desk, or even some of that clear, wide tape you use to wrap up a package for shipping. Judith loves those boots and really wanted to try to keep them from falling apart completely before she could get home to DC and take them in to be repaired.

That night I dreamed that Barack Obama asked me to help him buy a pair of cowboy boots. Even though he had secret service men and other people around who knew him far better than I, he seemed to think I was the best person to help him find boots.

I was thrilled to lend a hand, but I didn’t know how fragile he was. He kept having to sit down and sometimes he’d suddenly start sliding off a stool or listing sideways as he walked, and I’d have to prop him up. I started feeling very protective of him.

Then I woke up. I hope Judith was able to get her boots in to get fixed.

The end.