My Dream Date With Walter Matthau

Any normal person would have a dream about a handsome hunk, but no, not me. I conjured up a date with late Walter Matthau, bulldog-face man.  He was in a tuxedo (didn't help) and I was trying to select an appropriate evening ensemble from a rack of slightly used retro clothing.  While Walter's friends were solicitously supplying me with ice and drinks (which I didn't want), I was trying to fix a drooping sequin fleur-de-lis on the front of my polyester pantsuit.
W: " My dear, you seem to have something black all over your face."
Me, looking in the mirror:  "Oh, it's only these darn sequins.  They keep falling off my outfit." Falling off would be a misnomer here, these things are embedded in my skin. I try peeling them away, only to find they have left bright red pock-marks upon my facial features.

Everyone I tell about this dream has the same reaction; "Walter Matthau???!!!" ...followed by gales of laughter.  Yeah, it's only funny if I hasn't happened to you.
My Freudian analysis of this dream is as follows:
1.  I am very happily married.  I couldn't even cheat on PARTNER in a dream.  Next to Boy George, Walter Matthau is probably the last person to cause jealousy. I am practically a saint.
2.  I need some new clothes...black, cocktail items.
3.  My face IS getting lines and wrinkles.  I am no longer young.

My practical analysis of the nightmare is: don't eat too much dark chocolate right before bedtime or Walter might begin to look like this...