Dreams about curfew and why I sometimes feel like a pumkin

Did you ever wonder how life would be if it would have elements of a fairy tale? Did you ever wonder if fairytales can come through? No? Are you curious to find out? Yes? Than you should come to Afghanistan. Every Thursday night, the start of a new weekend in Afghanistan, I and my car are at serious stake of turning into a pumpkin.

For reasons which are still a bit obscure to me (as most security incidents happen during daytime), IRC staff members in Afghanistan have to be at home by midnight. Therefore, we start our weekend as soon as possible, so to say immediately after work (which is, as it happens, often eight in the evening). The usual but pleasent mix of restaurant, party and bar follows, and while initial beers are enjoyed in peace, latest by eleven one joggles betweeen another drink or calling the car to make sure that we are home by twelve. Comes eleven thirty, those who are curfew free start the usual joke: hurry up or your car will turn into a pumpkin! I feel slightly flattered by the fact that people draw parallelities between me and cinderella (does that mean that a prince is somewhere out there?). As it happens, I actually never manage to be home by 00:00. It's always something in the range from 00:01 to 00:10. Last Thursday, I found it particularly challanging to leave the french bar, one of the usual thursday night hang outs. First, I had to say good bye to few people. Then I had to finish my drink. When I was already out, I remembered that I had forgotten my shawl. I went back in, asked few guys in a polite way to get up from the sofa, as they might - unconsciously - rest on my shawl (nice trick ;). As I couldnt find it, I decided to go out again. Mentioning it to my friend Kate (who is also part of the pumpkin gang) insisted that we go back in, look for the shawl and send out some last good byes. So back in, I finally found my shawl and thus had no further excuse not to go home. Though we reached home at 00:20, our car didnt turn into pumpkin (would have been too nice if fairy tales could come true... damn, does that mean that the prince doesn't exist?). Instead, I continued dreaming about staying on in the french bar. In my dreams, I lost first my shoes, then I couldnt get hold of the driver, then I started talking to my ex b'friend (something I try to avoid in real, but as Kabul is a very small town, we bump into each other at least once a week). At one point in my dreams, I decided to walk home (how unresponsible). As far as I remember, my dream ended with me getting fired, instead of turning into a pumpkin. But then again, who would expect a fairytale to come true in a city like Kabul?

What would a psychologists answer to my dreams be? That I am a hopeless believer in fairytales, surrounded by a reality that is just not a fairytale at all?