this illusion
She dreams she has a small daughter who is very demanding and often destructive. It's not clear how old the child is - the way she's dressed implies a toddler, but her actions and such suggest somewhat older, perhaps eight? Somehow she knows she's been emotionally neglectful of the child and the child is quite rightfully acting out, but doesn't want anyone (particularly her mother) to find out she's failed as a parent.
Elsewhere in the dream she's supposed to be married but has been flirting with two geeky Mensa types and has their phone numbers and has been waiting a suitable period (two weeks) before following up with a call. So she's emptying out her bag, trying to find where she thought she had those numbers, and there's an extraordinary amount of junk in her bag, more than she could ever haul around in reality, but she keeps pulling it out and stuffing it back in (even the coat hangers), but the numbers are not where she remembered putting them.
Back with the daughter, and the child has been putting things outside the lounge room window and leaving them there, and climbing out there herself (which is a risk not so much because she might fall and hurt herself, but more likely someone will find out she's unsupervised rather too often). So mummy has to climb out there and retrieve the things, and rebuke the child: "We keep the window closed because of spiders. They will bite you and it will hurt a lot!"
She's in her room, suddenly, and it's hugely messy. Things everywhere, in precarious piles, slipping and sliding. Someone brings in more things, and she recognises them as having been in her bag. Flip some mental switch and she's in a thrift shop, and her bag is on a cabinet, and someone puts some jeans on top. She misunderstands, thinks they're trying to sell her bag, and rips the price tag off the jeans. A large elderly black man comes over to see what she's fussing about. She realises her mistake and apologises.
Back in the house with the child, who has undone her romper suit and removed her nappy, and is now remonstrating with mummy as to how the world is so wrong and she, the wise little child, is so right. Mummy thinks it is odd that her daughter is suddenly much plumper, and what is wrong with her face? (The skin is brownish and wrinkled, but not in an aged way, more like the surface of a preserved ham.) Mummy suddenly realises her daughter has somehow transmogrified to look like a junior version of the widow of child's "RL" father (dreams are so complicated, natch), so she begins talking about how child should not concentrate on the deprivations (lack of father figure), since child's own half-sister (though not the biological daughter of the widow, because these things are never simple) also suffered (lack of same father figure), but has turned out perfectly okay.
Switch. She's at someone's house, at some kind of party, and both the geeky Mensa types are here, and they have dates. She tries to convey with an apologetic look: I was going to call you, I'm still interested, I just couldn't find your number. They don't actually seem upset, but seeing as they are both with someone, she decides not to pursue them again just yet. So she goes into her room (which is here, somehow) to change for lunch, but she can't find anything that fits or looks nice enough, and her bras are literally falling apart while she's wearing them, so when she finally emerges, everyone else has eaten.
Back to the lounge and the child, who has been ranting and raging and is all in a lather of sweat. Mummy picks her up (she is quite small again now) and carries her around, looking for her own mother, because child has developed a rash on the right side of her face and mummy doesn't know what to do. Suddenly she realises the child has been pissing on her. "Here I was all dressed up to go out and now look!" Ridiculous volumes of urine run down the hallway, swirling and churning.
Now she's in another house and a little girl (not her own) is proffering her game, which has small plastic animals that amble around the board when the player presses down on their haunches. So she takes a turn to humour the child, but presses too hard. The animal leaps an astonishing distance, right across the room and out the window. The child begins to cry. "Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to do it like that. It's not lost, is it?" The child sobs. Fearing parental retribution she rashly promises to get a replacement from some shop she was "going to go to anyway".
Then she's in another room with one of the geeky Mensa types, the first one, the one she likes a little bit better, and he's telling her how much he likes her, and she's thinking he doesn't know her very well because she's an all-out disaster, but she plays along because she really does fancy him, and hopefully that mysterious husband she's supposed to be married to, hopefully he'll never find out.