I am sitting in front of my behemoth of a laptop, wishing I had had the foresight to invest in a smaller computer. There is something about seventeen inches of blank screen that seems to induce writer’s block. The hours until my deadline are steadily tick-tocking away, making me wish it was “brillig”¹ on Wednesday rather than Thursday. In a spurt of determination to at least have something to turn in I briskly type my name at the top of the page, and save my manifesto under alice2Adraft1. That done, I am once more without inspiration. From the other room I can hear my roommate, Rachel, blasting the latest Brittany Spears album and my attention is drawn to the rather impressive collection of Spears memorabilia that decorates her side of the room. When Rachel moved in her first project was to create a mural-sized collage of Brittany magazine clippings, posters, calendars, and song quotes on her side of our bedroom. As I hung my lone poster of Audrey, I sensed that my roommate might be a fan of the very blond, very tan pop-star. I was right.

Contemplating this in a haze of midriffs and eyeliner, accompanied by an auditory root-canal, I am hardly surprised when a miniature longhorn² in an imitation leather miniskirt and a rhinestone halter-top suddenly appeared suddenly appears on top of the pile of blank Cds stacked next to my computer. Apparently inspired by her iridescent stage, she begins to sway her rather wide hips, throw me a smoldering glance, or at least smoldering for a heifer; it is still a rather placid gaze, and suddenly bursts into song.

With a taste of blue grass

I’m o’er the moon.

You’re tasty

I’m slipping udder.

With a taste of grazing paradise

I’m addicted to moo

And I’m not just black and white

I can be burnt orange too.³

Finishing her bucolic serenade with what I can only assume is a bovine attempt at a shimmy, the bespangled Betsy leaps from my desk and sashays off into the bottomless pit that is my closet⁴, all the while muttering something under her breath that sounds like “I’d like to see that Spears girl do that in hooves!”

Taking a sip of my ever-present caffeinated beverage, I wonder if I should follow my musical mascot, or if such a thing is even possible, seeing as how I am about five feet too tall to follow her path through my footwear. Just as I come to the conclusion that my size will prohibit any such adventure, I realize that my aforementioned laptop is growing to truly gargantuan proportions, and that the drink I am holding in my hand is not my Diet Coke, but a pink glass bottle⁴ with the words “Drink Me” neatly etched on its side. Now being a girl strongly wary of consuming unidentified substances I am at first a bit concerned about how I will able to call poison control when my phone is now larger than I am, but I after a moment I realize that my shrunken stature aside I feel perfectly healthy, and cheerfully follow the path of my singing bovine.

I pass by flip-flops, high heels, and my favorite pair of running shoes with the left sole that flaps when I walk, until I find my way blocked by a fallen blouse with pinstripes that are now the width of my thumb. After a moments deliberation I duck under the fabric and begin to crawl on my hands and knees towards the back of my closet. When I finally emerge, a bit dusty and sore, I find that instead of a white painted baseboard, I am now standing in the midst of a large garden, and it seems as though I have either regained my previous size or this new world is of smaller dimensions that the one I have just left. From where I stand paths weave out in three directions, one leads to what appears to be an old fashioned hedge maze, another, which looks terribly overgrown and untended, quickly recedes into a dirt path which disappears into a forest, and the last, which is paved in neatly kept flagstones and winds into a brightly colored garden, from which the faint tinkling of a fountain can be herd. Not wishing to become lost or risk an encounter with the potentially hungry inhabitants of the forest, and relishing the chance to wash away some of my grime, I set of in the direction of the garden.

As I draw closer to the garden I begin to notice that the blossoms are not the average garden varieties. Little red paintbrushes line a bed of doll-sized blue caps. At first this is perfectly charming until I turn a corner to find myself in front of a patch of spider lilies and st. john’s worts⁵. I hurry on to the next turn wondering if the forest was not the wiser choice after all. Thankfully the next bend leads me to the fountain, though after seeing it I am not so sure that is an accurate title. It most closely resembles a large silver chafing dish with its legs resting in a shallow pool. Lounging contentedly against rather sodden cushions is a rather large Codfish⁶ raises a many spiraled straw to his lips, sucks in, and then expels water through his gills, causing the chafing dish to overflow just a bit and water to trickle down into the pool below. Quite naturally shocked by this sight and wondering if I truly am seeing what I believe I am, I exclaim, “What are you doing?”

Turning to my quite lazily, and quivering his whiskers a bit at my rudeness, the Cod coolly replies, “Breathing. What are you doing?”7

Belatedly realizing how tactless and rather stupid my question was I respond rather timidly, “Well I was looking for the fountain, though now that I’ve found it I’m not entirely sure it is one.”

“Well of course it’s not.” The Cod states with a derisive little sniff, “Do you breath from a fountain?”

“I suppose not,” I reply, “but I did rather hope that I’d be able to wash up.”

“Well most certainly may not do that here,” says the Cod. “This is a recirculating breather, but surely you are not here just to wash your hands. Though you seem to be a very silly girl I cannot imagine you are that stupid!”

“Well no it isn’t,” I confess. “but I’m not quite sure why I am here, though it might be because I’m was following a longhorn. Have you seen her? She’s about my size and has rather flashy tastes in clothing.”

“Oh she passed by not to long ago. If you follow that path you should find her soon enough, tap dancing is not nearly so fast as walking.”

“Thank you,” I say in my most polite tone, “I really should be on my way now”

“Yes go along now,” the Codfish says with a much put-upon sigh, “but mind the snapdragons, and the forget-me-nots! They do so like to carry on.”

Feeling a little eager to be out of this garden I bob a little curtsy, unsure of the proper good bye for a Cod in a chafing dish, and quickly start along the path once more. Within five minutes I find myself at the end of the path, which opens up into a small clearing. To my delight, there in the clearing is my bespangled bovine apparently getting ready to perform an impromptu concert for the assembled creatures. Sitting in a semicircle around the cow are some of the most curious creatures I have ever seen. It is not their species that makes them so unique, but rather their odd sense of fashion, which up to this point I had not realized animals possessed. Rather than be shocked by such a curious assembly I am beginning to feel that this really must be quite commonplace considering all that I have seen today. Huddled close to the front is a group of young monkeys all wearing matching “I ¤ Betsy” t-shirts and giggling over some shared secret. Directly behind them is an older hippopotamus looking quite frazzled in a large feathered hat, who by her repeated shushings and attempts to keep them in line, I assume must be their chaperone. I settle myself down on an empty patch of grass and enquire of my neighbor, a large green macaw with copious amounts of blue eye shadow, what is about to take place. Without turning her head away from the stage area, where Betsy is now mooing out her scales, the macaw squawks at me, “She’s about to go on! Honestly if you can’t tell that I really don’t think you deserve to witness such talent!”

Decidedly hurt by this setdown I refrain from commenting on said talent and lie back on the grass to await the show. Above my head the clouds are forming rabbits and walruses⁸ with an accuracy I have never witnessed before. I almost believe I just saw that rabbit check his watch! Soon though my eyes drift shut, as the off-key mooing lulls me into a contented repose.

“Elizabeth! ELIZABETH!” a voice shouts in my ear. “Come on, you’ve slept enough, and drool isn’t good for your keyboard.”

Blearily I look up at my roommate, “What time is it I ask?”

“Six o’clock, now come on they stop serving dinner in half an hour.”

My mind still in a tangle from all that just happened, or at least what I think happed, I obediently get up and follow Rachel out the door. Did I dream it, or did I really follow a singing cow through my clothes closet?⁹ As we walk into the cafeteria my roommate asks, “Just out of curiosity, why do you dream of codfish?”