I decide to go out and get a newspaper. I decide to go in a different direction than I usually do. I discover the usual way up the sidewalk has been "improved" and is now more difficult for me to traverse. It is like a ladder made of cubicles, and inside the cubicles (boxes) are bricks put in a pattern that makes a toe hold difficult for me. I struggle up each one,  hanging on hard, hoping I can make it. I get to the top and crawl over the top. A man stands there wondering if he should offer help. I say, "Help me," holding out an arm. He does. I go down a street and see a store and go in to get my newspaper. I see the president is there at a conference, perhaps in the basement, and then I am now in a skimpy outfit where all the women are being fitted for these form-fitting halter top-like things. A woman stands right behind me saying she can see I'm being fitted, so she'll follow me so she can get fitted. I am annoyed and say I am not being fitted. Each halter top is alike, a white square top with straps that force the boobs up prettily. Some women's boobs sort of drop under the wire cup outfit a bit. I decide since the president is here, I'd might as well take advantage of this and go complain about these changes in the sidewalk that now make it harder for me to get around. I go down and find both Bush and Clinton there. I walk up to Clinton and say, "Although I have to blame Bush, as it was his administration that made the plans, it is you that has to change it back. We have to be more aware of the environment and how it affects the disabled." He looks annoyed and I say, "I know it costs money and is unpopular, but it has to be done if any change will happen." As I continue talking, I am now talking to a president who is a woman. She hands me something, a lacy cloth "paper." Another woman sits on the couch and says to her, "Well, you sure have pretty feminine paper here." The president says, "I get a lot of teasing. The men don't like it; it will take some time for them to get used to this change. I notice my lacy panties are down around my ankles and I start to struggle, pulling them up. A man is seated across from us and he is trying not to stare. I am trying to be subtle, but in fact I am standing there hiking up my panties. I get it almost up and give up in frustration, sitting down with them uncomfortably wrinkled up almost at my hips. The woman says to the president, "Well, you sure can tell you used to teach the third grade and not..." (and she named some male traditional occupation.)