Time is a Croc
Dreamed 1993/3/29 by Chris Wayan
I go downstairs, as I do three times a week, to meet my friend Giselle in the basement. It's a huge space full of Olympic-scale exercise equipment--even a big jungle gym Giselle and I climb on.
Gulp! Giselle looks hot in her red dance/exercise leotard and gauze wrap skirt. Well, she always looks hot. And I always get very shy around that heat.
But today I feel something new--as we exercise, stretch, and talk, my fear slowly fades until I can even flirt with her, shyly.
I say "you look so kissable today", though I can't act on it. But I give her what I can--warm looks, a lingering touch, an affectionate lean, a steadying hand. Sigh!
Is Giselle even interested in me? I don't know. From what Giselle's said, she's attracted to forceful guys. But watching my indirection, I think "This will NEVER work!" Seems so obvious from outside. I have to be more direct.
Giselle does a couple of chin-ups, part of her habitual workout, then does the big one: the high-jump.
Wow, so sexy, writhing over the bar at the height of the arc. For a short girl, she's getting up there! Not Olympic caliber yet, but up there.
Like ballet, this training is long-term.
Giselle pulls out her golf clubs next. Not putts, but full, fierce swings. The balls streak across the basement, through a doorway, and into another universe! See, there's a door into other worlds in our basement, so that Giselle can practice her golf swings. It's really convenient.
Sorry I forgot to mention that.
I wonder where she's hit it today? I walk with her through the archway to find... a park full of columns and greens and holes... an alien golf course all right. Good shot! Out of all the worlds she could have hit it to, she found another that cares about golf.
But I don't realize the half of it. The ball's nowhere to be seen, but I hear it... still gurgling as the ball goes down the nearest hole--as in miniature golf, the hole is a pipe taking the ball who-knows-where.
Not that it really matters: she got a hole in one-- blind! From another WORLD!
She's really getting good.
Two locals walk up. They say "We're from the Alien Golf Association. Sorry to tell you this, but... your hole-in-one doesn't count. You have to do the holes in sequence, after all."
Giselle sank it in the WRONG HOLE? So her interdimensional hole-in-one doesn't SCORE?
I feel cheated for her. Golf is too picky for me.
The golf hazards here are serious. The pond beyond the hole erupts as we argue, and a hippo charges us! The officials run for it. One is a bit slow, and the hippo stomps him. He's not killed, but he's going to hurt for a long, long time. Why'd he even survive? It's a small hippo. For a hippo.
A very small hippo.
A very small, cheesy hippo. With seams. Frankenhippo?
Oh. A really fat guy in a rubber hippo suit.
He heads for me, now. But when I think he'll catch me and stomp me, I turn to fight him. After all, he's not a real hippopotamus. He slows... stops... and peels off his suit.
It's not a man inside. Great green jaws, long jagged teeth... It's a crocodile.
A ticking crocodile.
The crocodile in PETER PAN who swallowed the alarm clock and chases Captain Hook. It's the Croc of Time!
Well, sort of. But the seams reveal it's just a rubber suit again. How many layers is this guy wearing? Is there anyone in there?
One alien golf official says "Hey, you got him to peel off his bad-temper mask! Thanks!"
The other says "We've been trying to get him to quit that hippo schtick forever. A game needs hazards, but he's bad for business."
But I'm not so sure the Croc of Time's really an improvement. Because when we step back off the green, into our own reality... the rubber crocodile follows. Ticking. As a hippo, he was merely snappish. Now I face a slow, relentless stalker, ticking away. Time. Aging. Death!
Better than being hippomashed here and now, I guess. But still creepy.
Now, wait a minute! He's NOT an enraged hippo, OR a croc who swallowed a clock, OR the relentless power of time, age, and death. Why should we worry about him?
He's just a jerk in a rubber suit.
No matter how long the croc ticks.
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