Shaken, stirred, or whatever

I have never had a martini in my life. Never even tasted one. But last night I had a dream in which I drank a martini in a classic martini glass, and it was the most delicious drink that ever passed my lips. It was one of those five second dreams that comes out of nowhere without even a trace of relevance. The glass may have been handed to me, although I don't remember there being other people in the dream. For all I know, it may have been floating around in the air for me to grab. I drank the martini down in one gulp and was strangely overcome with the savoriness of the cocktail. That seemed to be the entire focus of the dream, as if this was some important moment of erudition in my life – the recognition and acceptance of what I have been missing all these years. At the bottom of the glass was a single green olive. At this moment in the dream, as the olive rolled into my mouth from the upturned glass, my attention switched from the surprise of loving this unfamiliar concoction of vodka and vermouth to the anticipation of the familiar briny taste to follow. But just before I could bite down on the olive, the dream ended and I woke up. Shortly thereafter, I sat down to a bowl of Cheerios and milk that tasted, well, just plain strange.