As Alice sat by her computer, she felt all men should worship her as Botticelli loved his Venus. Her long, flowing red hair was freshly washed with homemade egg shampoo and nonchalantly tickled her waist. Yawn. Pills. Water. Sigh. Then she noticed the label on her prescription medication. It was her cat’s! She had taken medicine from the wrong bottle!

The smell of tuna fish in her refrigerator’s tupperware container immediately became irritating. Why couldn’t she get at it? She smelled it. Sleep was the only answer, so she fell off the chair and went into a coma. Her cat Grace sat on her face.

Falling down a long black narrow hole, her REM dream frazzled her. “How am I supposed to keep my dignity, when I’ve just landed from this stupid tunnel and bumped… “Oh!”

“Look at the bouquet of pretty flowers! The patterns on the hair sticks would make me so beautiful. Dressmaker!” A tuxedoed tailor, looking way too much like her parrot Harry, came waddling out with his sewing machine. “What shape would you like?” he asked. “I specialize in haute couture peanut-shaped dresses with the correct texture.”

“I don’t care if I am in a dream induced by a coma from taking Grace’s medicine by mistake, Harry. You are not getting another peanut. Make me a white flowered dress immediately so it will go with every hair stick in this bouquet!”

“No,” said Harry. That was his usual answer. Why should it change because Alice was in a coma? But out of a love Stendhal couldn’t even describe in a moment, 100 pages long, Harry started sewing. As Alice looked through her flowers, Harry said, “You know, you could get back to your computer and into your own world again if you found the blue magic wand.”

“Why do I want to go back to my world? Here, there is no electric bill!” “Get the wand,” Harry wasn’t kidding. Alice found it.

Suddenly she woke up to a closeup view of Harry on her nose yelling, “Cracker!” while her cat Grace had moved to sleeping on her stomach. “I’m home!” she screamed, as both animals dashed out of the room. “My Longlocks Hair Sticks collection!” The Waterford crystal vase in which she kept them rested beautifully on her antique desk, coloring her world.

“Grace, stop switching my pill bottles… please?” Alice begged as she went to the refrigerator to get her tuna fish. “Yes, Grace, of course you can have some.”

Filed under: Angst