Ok, armchair psychoanalysts (and the couple of actual professionals that I know)… Explain this to me:

I had a bad nightmare last night. One of those sweaty, tossing and turning, talking in my sleep ones.

Turns out, I was the victim in a Scooby Doo episode. I was actually IN the episode! My first on-screen acting credit!

I had a friend who got mysteriously sucked into a fireplace. I couldn’t save him! I tried!

Then, a ghost banged on the door three times to let him in. When I refused, he came through the door anyway. The ghost floated right through the door! A “solid” door!

But, it was obviously just a guy in a sheet, flailing his arms. Still… This is an actual nightmare, and it scared the Shit out of me. The ghost was heading toward the gang. This guy in a sheet.

And, just as I was yelling a warning, “Velma! Velma!” Lynn grabbed my arm and woke me up.

Lynn: Honey! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare. You’re talking nonsense. What’s going on?!

Me: I was in a Scooby Doo episode! Crap! Velma! Daphne!
(breathing, breathing)

(pause)

Lynn: Um. Never heard that one before.

Say what you will about watching the worst cartoon of the ’70s. Because, it’s always a guy in a costume. Always. And, even my sleeping self knew that.

But, when you are actually IN it, it is absolutely terrifying. So, when Shaggy yells “Zoinks!” I now know what he means.

(And, no, wise-ass, I did not have any “Scooby Snacks” before going to bed.)