Uhhh...

Kay, so this dream was particularly weird.

I'm an elephant. That is, I'm wearing an elephant costume which consists primarily of a giant head, very simplified and cartoony, made from that stretchy nylon material which is usually used to make pillows stuffed with tiny beads. Like the Squishy or Shanelle's bizarre pink blanket. Only this one is bright turquoise. You see, I'm sort of only portraying an elephant (I experience most of my dreams at least partially as if they're a movie I'm directing), but I'm also sort of really an elephant. I'm not myself, either... I'm a sort of more grownup, smartass, world-savvy, elephantine version of me. I spend much of my time trying to get my limp, bead-filled trunk to behave organically and being surprisedly relieved that no one seems to notice my hand manipulating it.

Anyway, I'm called into my Boss' office. We work for some sort of high-profile, uber-hip and important company. She is blond, middle-aged, attractive in a totally un-frilly way. She tells me my assignment is to go find this other woman (a colleague of mine) who has gone missing or is playing hooky or has simply misunderstood her assignment... anyway, she's not where she's supposed to be.

"I'm sorry to call you in on your day off," says my Boss, "but who else could I send?"

"Who else indeed?" I agree, smugly. I'm an extremely competent employee.

"Well, enjoy your flight. You'll need to make all your traveling arrangements. She's in that place... oh what is it called... you know..."

"Right, the British equivalent of the Bahamas."

"Yes, exactly! But what is it called?"

Neither of us can remember, so we press a button and this huge sepia-toned holographic world map appears all around us (our office building is equipped with ALL the latest technology) and then I'm somewhere else entirely, having never found out the name of the place I was supposed to go, though I remember thinking in my dream, "Oh! I think that place is called Majorca! I remember the Dursleys mentioning it in Harry Potter! Pity I didn't remember that back at the office..."

Anyway, now I'm walking along a series of rooms which are a cross between train compartments and old abandoned Victorian manor-rooms. Beckah is there, but I'm still my elephant character.

"Hey, help me open this trunk," she says. "I think there are some Reeses Pieces in here."

We pry it open (it's rusty and covered in dust) and find, to our disappointment, a set of toys and hundreds of bags of those uber-cheap generic-brand peanut butter taffy things. Gross. We look at the toys instead, which are a set of tablets about the size of a pack of cards, intricately carved and painted to look like a cross between space-age robots and Native American totems. One of them (the red and green one) is the father of this family of tablets, and for some reason I find this utterly hilarious and start making up a game where the father goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night to take a bath in his big jacuzzi-style tub (suddenly I have a whole doll-house for these toys), and is found in the morning by his family, drowned -- and now they're not robot-totem-tablets, but rather ferret-shaped stuffed animals with long green algae growing all over them instead of synthetic fur. Why I thought this was a funny or appropriate game, I have no idea. 

All this time I've been (pretending to be?) an elephant with a giant stretchy turquoise bead-head.

That's all I remember. Help.