Last night I dreamt about the Biebs. I was a thirty-something woman (still young, if you ask me!), and I had "acquired" some drawings of the pop idol. The drawings were scandalous. I was in the process of pasting one up on the concrete wall of the venue Bieber was performing at. Although there were many fans around--ladies younger than myself, mostly--I managed this covertly. I had applied some glue to one and was about to press it to the wall when who should walk up but the Biebs himself. (Sometimes he goes in through the front to "be real," I guess?) He didn't see what I was doing. I casually leaned my elbow against the wall, hiding the drawing behind my back as I did so (pretty smooth, huh?). We immediately broke into a duet of the old country standard "You Can Kiss My Scraggly Beard." When he, being such a young man--a boy, really--sang the chorus, it meant one thing, but when I, a thirty-something woman, sang it, it meant something entirely different (dreams are great for double entendres!). You might think everyone was jealous (Bieber fans are notorious), but I swear everyone loved it (I heard some clapping). After we parted ways, I continued with my project, but now I felt a twinge of guilt. So, on top of the scandalous drawing I pasted another sheet that read, "SCANDALOUS DRAWING OF THE BIEBS. DON'T LIFT IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SCANDALED." (I had to write "scandaled" because I'd run out of room on the paper.) Anyway, I didn't have a ticket to the show, so that was that. And you know what? The Biebs was all right by me, no matter what you might read on Twitter.