The crowd falls still as I enter the ring. At the far end stands my feared and respected enemy: Il Matadeer.
He unfurls his cape before him. I lowermy head. It is our signal to begin. Soon, like my father, and hisfather before him, we will be locked in a dance of death, a timelessstruggle from which only one may … may … whuh-HUH?! HEEEEYYYYY!!
"Wake up, honey. You were having the bullfight dream again."
"I was not!"
"You do realize that we’re deer, don’t you?"
"I WASN’T HAVING IT, HONEST!"
"It’s all right, sweetie. I’m going to the kitchen — would you like a salt lick?"
(sigh…) "Thanks, Mom."
Dream big, Angela B.