The Spaghetti People

My dreamworld has been active lately. A frequently recurring dream is populated with tall, very tall humans, 12 to 14 feet tall, spiked hair not included. In most of these dreams, the tall people are at a cocktail party at Georgetown University. (I can't figure that one out. I've never been there.)

The party is definitely elitist. No one under 12 feet tall is admitted. (Even Yao Ming wouldn't make the cut!)

I, too, am not an official party guest. I'm merely a disoriented moth fluttering from one light to the next. My main objective is to remain inconspicuous. There's nothing like getting swatted at by a 14-foot fellow nicknamed Slinky.

The tall people appear to be a calm folk. They largely live in a world of their own, almost a different species. They are known as the Spaghetti People because they are so long, thin and willowy...and intelligent and successful. They have no shoulders, chests, bellies, hips or butts to speak of. Their arms are as long as the average guy is tall. There is something worm-like about them, pliable and bendable, even though they have long, long backbones, giving giraffes a run for their spots.

In my dreams, the Spaghetti people never do much. At the party, they sip their cocktails, nibble lightly on party snacks, and drift around holding small talk with the other tall, tall guests. They all seem to know each other.

Every now and then, I spot a half-full (-empty?) glass left on a table, counter, or mantelpiece. Bravely (or foolishly), I swoop down for a quick sip. Where, I ask myself, do these long-bodied creatures ever find beds long enough to accommodate them? I take another sip from the glass, and decide to flap back up to the ceiling. My head suddenly starts spinning. The vodka in the glass was strong stuff.