Sleep, Perchance To… Hey, Who Let That Dog On The Stage?

I’m not one of those people who just dreams.

I’m one of those people who dreams in 3-D Technicolor,

large screen,



with popcorn,

and whatever my Id decides to throw at me that night.

And none of that piddling little dream a little run a little, get chased by a train

and wake up just in time, if you please.

I once won the Upper Starbury Minor needle race-

past twelve haystacks with cows cheering me on

and holding out water cups, thank you very much.

After which the medal of honor,

foreign division,

was presented by her majesty,

who asked me to tea at the palace,

and very nice it looked, too,

but I couldn’t stay,

Luxembourg was in trouble,

and I had to drive a 1941 tank across the border

so they had something to defend themselves with.

Besides cheese.

Then I once went twelve rounds with King Kong,

while wearing a giant mutant crab costume and a court jester’s hat and shoes,

only to have him take off the mask,

exposing to the world that he was actually…

his alter ego…

Faye Wray,

who then invited me to take the part of Rick in the new film version of Casablanca.

Needless to say, this time we both survived,

After I played As Time Goes By on a piano

with thumb tacks in the hammers to make it sound honky-tonk

till they all got tired of dancing and went to sleep.

Then there was the night I did the entire film of Gypsy.

All parts,

and awoke up to find my husband on the living room floor,

wrapped in two duvets with a pillow over his head.

It seems he rather liked the Gypsy numbers,

but I kept him awake by conducting the tempo with my feet.

And as for the night I helped Snoopy cross enemy lines,

with the small French mademoiselle,

who we let off the tank at Luxembourg

before taking a camel to Casablanca,

then a borrowed dog house to Santa Rosa California

to the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm,

where we all sang the score to Gypsy….

I wonder if Lewis Carroll got started like this?


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