Martha and Me

Last night I dreamed about Martha Stewart and me just hanging out in her kitchen, baking cookies.

It wasn't the first time we had met. We both remembered our first meeting a few years ago. Hotass had given me a visit with Martha shortly after he and I met in Nashville, and I got to hang out with her then, baking cookies. But I was all nervous and stuff, and she got frustrated with me, because I was making a mess with the frosting. She apologized to me last night. Prison has a way of changing a person, she said, but she still didn't think I had given the frosting job 100 percent.

Her demeanor seemed rushed and aloof, but we still talked openly and honestly about the meaning of life, while she broke eggs and mixed cookie dough. I asked her how she managed to stay cold and collected, and make everything so perfectly.

"Cold?" she asked. "You think I'm cold?"

"No, I meant cool. You actually seem very warm and inviting on your new show. But you always seem to have it together."

"Didn't you see me fall apart when I got sent to prison?"

And then she asked me to get her a platter for the cookies, the one on the bottom shelf. It was a Christmas platter with red poinsettias on it.

"Martha, are you sure you want to use this one? It's ugly."

"Yes, I'm sure. The lady we're giving these to... well, I don't like her very much."

And then I woke up.