I just woke up from a dream that I was at a big, formal party which was supposed to be at a fancy restaurant/hotel on the 8th floor of the Prudential Center in Boston, but the building looked nothing like it. Donald Rumsfeld was there, and he was only about 4 feet tall– he was tiny. I thought, “He looks so tall on TV– this is really hysterical! This totally explains the Napoleanoic stuff.” He was making a big stink because the bar at the event didn’t have the scotch he likes. He stormed out, and came back later with two glasses of his scotch. I passed him in the hall and walking around the party a couple of times. The first time I couldn’t help but smirk because he was so short. The next time, he shot me a dirty look because I was smirking again, though I would have sworn he was actually getting smaller: more like half my height.