When I was a teenager, my brother had this dream in which my parents displayed an irresponsible largesse and bought him a Porsche. He woke from this lucid dream one school morning with the feeling that it was real and went downstairs with an extra bounce in his step, anticipating how awesome it would feel to roll up to Boise High in a hot new Carrerra GT.
Needs to say, his dream was crushed. There was no Porsche in the driveway, just our beat up Volvo 740 TurboWagon (which was fast and danger, but still no Porsche). Despite the readily dismissible fallacy of his expectations in this scenario, Pete stayed salty with our parents for failing to live up to his dreams.
For my part, I tended to expect the letdown of coveted ideals realized in dreams. But not this morning.