‘Do you know where it is I may or may not be?’ The faceless voice asked me.
I was a little perturbed at first, as I was sure I was in bed and had locked all the doors to the outside getting in.
I quickly opened my peepers and sat bolt upright, in one fluid movement I hasten to add.
Luckily it was the only fluid movement to occur. I surreptitiously checked as I asked, ‘who are you?’
‘I think I am who I was,’ the voice, who I now saw, through blurry eyes, was attached, inexplicably, to a golden lion standing upright in well-pressed evening wear.
I presume that it was “evening wear” as I’m sure it’s not the kind of attire to be worn at lunch.
I suppose it could be donned at brunch if one is to believe in that sort of over the water absurdity.
‘And who were you?’ I asked, trying to keep my patience in check. After all, it was a lion.
‘I think I may or may not have been Descartes. Although, if I was, then you’d think I would be more assured of that fact, wouldn’t you?’
‘Possibly?’ I countered, with a rather Australasian over-redundant use of the question mark and all it sounds like. ‘Can you recall where you might have been just prior to appearing in my bedroom in the middle of the night, Monsieur Descartes?’ I asked without an audible pause.
‘Oh!’ Descartes the golden lion began with some embarrassment in his tone. ‘I apologise profusely,’ before disappearing in an instant.
It left me quite the startled starling, I can assure you.
After reaching for a glass of water on my nightstand, I realised the problem:
I had eaten my slippers again.
That always created problems in the philosopher/golden lion dreams I was to expect awaking me from my tender slumber.
I sighed, in the only way I knew, deep and dramatic, before returning to the boglands of Chesterfield to buy new slippers.