Spike isn't a very chatty boy most of the time, but every morning around six or seven (today he slept in until seven, he never got the memo about daylight savings) he tells me elaborate stories full of vague details and impersonations, gesticulations, dramatic pauses. He gropes for the right words, he tries a few out while he tries to jam his whole fist into his mouth. Is he telling me about his dreams? He looks thoughtful as he tries to grab my nose, wrinkles his face, farts, yawns and continues his story.
"Boo," he says as he delicately rubs his fingertips along the rim of my nostril. He looks away and shuts his eyes briefly. "Is the story over?" I wonder.
"Oop," he says and gives me a significant look. Then I watch as his eyelids droop and finally close and his breathing becomes regular and deep.
I was sitting at a round table with fancy white linens and all the trappings of a very fancy event. To my left, a movie screen was playing the opening to a modern remake of the "Red Shoes." The dancers were rehearsing over the credits and I nearly wept it was so beautiful. A gentleman sat down to my right and I realized with a shock that he was Martin Scorsese, complete with heavy black frames and bushy eyebrows. I wanted to ignore him, I felt so intimidated, but I figured its not every day that an opportunity like this comes along. I extended my hand.
"Mr Scorsese, I am Camille Dutch, and I really enjoyed your last movie," I said and immediately regretted it because I couldn't remember what his last movie was. I was rescued by the arrival on my right by one of the actresses from the "Red Shoes."
"Charlotte," I said turning to her, "I'd like you to meet Mr Scorsese." He rose to shake her hand from across the table. I panicked because I realized I had no idea what her name was, "Charlotte" had just come tumbling out of my mouth.
Spike, doing his "feed me" total body wiggle fetched me back to reality. I was disappointed, I was looking forward to an interesting conversation about movies.