I dreamed some ladies at a fancy party were giving condescending looks to my mom and me because of how we were handling our hors d'oeuvres.
I told my mom, "They don't know about our food."
I was holding a partially bitten mochi between my fingers when I walked to a silver tray, picked up a round appetizer I could not identify, then placed my mochi on top of it.
I raised my new creation to one of the rude women and asked, "Do you know what mochi is made of?"
"Well, yes, I do," she insisted. "Brown sugar and eggs."
I stepped toward her. With my feet planted on the kitchen floor, I looked her in the eye.
"No. Mochi is not made with brown sugar and eggs."
Her eyes widened, but she didn't say anything. She wanted me to leave, but I had to make my point: "Mochi ... is not made ... with brown sugar and eggs."
I woke up chuckling. I think I'm making progress.