The BFF of my dreams.

I know that dreams are very boring to everyone except the dreamer, but last night I had one so vivid that I just had to write about it.

In the dream I was best friends with Novak Djokovic.

If you don’t know who that is, he’s the number one male tennis player in the world. And he just won his third Australian Open.

Why in the world did I dream about him?

I enjoy watching him play, but I’m not a fan. I’m a Federer girl.

Well, I’m really a Sampras girl but I had to find a substitute when Pete retired.

I don’t even root for Djokovic, unless he’s playing Andy Murray.

But last night he and I were sitting side by side in chaise lounges, eating flour tortillas out of the package and talking like we had known each other since preschool.

He even offer to let me sit in his player’s box at the tournament in Santa Cruz, which I’m not sure even exists.

The dream was so real that I half expected to find Nole’s (his friends call him Nole) cell number in my phone’s contact list this morning.

It wasn’t.

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