I am sitting on a bench and trying to gather up leaves. I am going to crochet the leaves into a lovely blanket or tablecloth. The leaves will be the material I use to crochet the already done squares of intricate pattern using crochet thread. I think to myself that it is silly to do that because the dried leaves are so brittle that they will break up into thousands of little pieces and blow away. A good-looking, very friendly man sits next to me. He engages me in conversation. Each time I turn my head toward him to respond, his face is closer. He's teasing me into permitting him to kiss me. My body leans far to the left as he leans into my "space." I look over to my left, at my sister Lydia. We smile at each other like acknowledging what a bizarre situation we find ourselves in. I know I need to tell him to stop. My non-verbal messages aren't doing it, but I feel loathe to do so. Finally, he does kiss me and I gently push him, giggle and say, "Don't do that," and drop eye contact. He does stop and backs off. Now we are preparing a lunch basket. I look and all I'm getting is packages of hot dogs and left over sausages that are old and wrinkled. I remember there are nicer cuts of meat and wonder a little angrily why that wasn't evenly divided. I was getting the worst end of the deal.