Ok, so I’m sitting in a darkened movie theater. But it’s not too dark, you know? It’s got some of the lights still partially dimmed like we’re gearing up for the movie back in the good-ol’-days (where they didn’t have a slew of commercials playing before the movie and previews started) and there’s a pleasant din of conversations happening around us…which is probably even more so like the good-ol’-days because people were talking to each other instead of twittering and tweeting on their phones.
Anyway, what you need to know is that we’re waiting. And I’m talking with my friends. And it’s the weird dream-thing where I know they’re my friends but I can’t make out their faces and I couldn’t name them if my life depended on it. But we’re friends. Besties. And I’m explaining the premises of the CW’s Arrow to them because if we’ve learned one thing from all these weird dreams I keep having, it’s that I’m still my nerdy little self even when I’m unconscious.
And my friends haven’t seen Arrow (which is a failure on my part, well, my dream-self’s part) because I love this show. So I’m explaining it to them, going over the broad strokes and playing up the cool bits (though, let’s be real, they’re all cool bits) as I’m trying to hype them up so they’ll want to watch it.
Billionaire playboy. Lost at sea. Shipwrecked on a hellish island. Learns to shoot a bow and arrow (hah, hence the name Arrow, one of my dream friends pointed out!) and returns to his home to right wrongs and deliver justice from the business end of the flying projectile he earns his name from.
And as I’m gearing up, getting ready to talk about the villains and the supporting characters and the drama (it is a CW show, after all) the guy in front of me turns around, having heard some of our conversation.
And it’s Stephen Amell.
My brain registers that it’s Stephen Amell. And it clicks 2 + 2 together to know that he played Oliver Queen, aka the Green Arrow.
So there’s really no excuse for what happens after he turns around in his seat and asks what we’re talking about.
He knows the show.
But that doesn’t stop me from roping him into my audience of listeners as I explain the show. His show. To him.
I am mansplaining his own freaking show to him.
My dream self is on a roll. And good guy that he is, Stephen Amell is nodding along and smiling at my enthusiastic rendition of the end of Season 1. Because I like to think that’s just the kind of guy he is. Dream or real life, he’s a nice dude totally up for listening to a fan gush about the show that, duh, he knows more about than I ever could.
Needless to say, I’m mortified at my dream-self when I wake up.