A Marriage Made in Spreadsheets

Contains: A wedding, some spreadsheets, a trip to New York, and vague references to Babylon 5.
Odd Factor:

This one, I can only remember bits and pieces of, and all I can do is blame it on watching a marathon of Babylon 5 on Sunday.

My husband and I are getting married, in 'our traditional fashion'. This means, matching ornate, eggshell coloured silk & lace gowns. I am bald, looking quite like a Centauri female from B5. My husband, well, he's naturally bald as well...but this time he has black curly hair. Our gowns are matching, as are our bouquets. We are skipping (yes, skipping) down a beach in someplace tony...the Riviera? Unsure as to location, but we are heading towards an stellar 5-star hotel. As we get there, two masked bike riders (another tv reference...these two guys like the bike riders on Throwdown with Bobby Fway:P) greet us, telling us we both need to go away on business.

My husband is shuffled into a waiting car, as am I, where there is another man waiting for me. Ok, not so much of a man, but a kid...perhaps 20. It turns out, he is my 'replacement' at work, and this important meeting that I had been planning for, for ages, I needed to attend to, so he could monitor my work and take it over for me once we were done. Of course, that would mean I would be out of a job.

I was...nonplussed, to say the least, and was then forced to grow my hair.

We get to the meeting, and I am now miraculously wearing some form of business suit. The spreadsheet I've been toiling over for months now is up on the projector, and we start going through data. The sniveling kid decides he needs to take over and starts going through the data, and misses some very keen points. He refuses to listen to me, so I finally raise my hand and ask if I'm allowed to send him for a time-out. The board, or whatever, agrees that I can, so off Junior goes to a corner, to suck on his thumb where I point out the errors he had not taken into account when reading this spreadsheet. Those errors were namely:
* Animal Attack needs to be added to root cause
* Typhoons need to be added to root cause
* Alien invasion needs to be added to root cause.

The data pans out. I'm still out of a job, but at least I got my shit right. And that snot nosed kid got to sit in a corner at my bidding.

I wake up to tell my husband; he's delirious with fever and agrees it was the best thing I could have done.

Point of note: I need to point out that I've spent the better part of 1 week in a particularly pesky piece of data, and have been living, breathing and eating Excel. This at least explains part of this dream. The rest, as usual...I have zero clue.