Why Waltz, When You Can Riverdance?

My husband, BMG, was admitted to the hospital last night. The cause? An uncontrolled, high fever of unknown origins. Unwilling to leave him until they have some idea of the disease his body is fighting, I spent the night in his room, sleeping fitfully in a recliner thoughtfully scared up by the nursing staff.

In one of my dreams, my mother waltzes into BMG's hospital room in the morning, having driven all night from her home in Central NY, to be with us. Wearing an elaborately layered red, boiled wool coat, she insert herself in the midst of the hospital chaos and declares, "I'm here!"

So I tell my mom about this dream, during an early morning round of texting. 

I follow-up the story with an all caps admonition, "DO NOT DRIVE HERE."

She replies, "I promise that won't happen. My boiled wool coat is a bluish purple. And I wouldn't Walt into his room. I would Riverdance my way in."

(Now that I would like to see.)