Today baby girl’s call was different. I woke up to the knowledge that the San Antonio Zoo was celebrating its 100th birthday and had installed a carousel. I think my daughter said that lions had replaced the horses, or maybe the carousel has only one lion, or maybe the whole dang thing is zoo animals. I would like to ride the ostrich, if one exists, because it might let me stick my head in the sand alongside its head, and I could just ignore reality for awhile. Somehow the conversation, which started out more surreal than real anyway, drifted around to Komodo dragons. I said one had died in a fire at the zoo, and she said she wanted a Komodo dragon for a pet. I said that, no, she didn’t because they bite and the bite is poisonous, and she said that a Komodo dragon would be a good disciplinary tool, as in “If you don’t behave, I’m going to give you to the Komodo dragon.”

Really, what would you have done? I told her to have a nice day at work and to hang up and drive. Then I pondered whether any possible good could be gleaned from any of these mother-daughter exchange of ideas. Perhaps a grade-C sci-fi movie script. The Komodo dragon, whose bite is even deadlier thanks to the super-hydrocodone a mad scientist injected into it, goes mano y mano with a Great White, who has gone blood-sugar nuts after ingesting an entire super-freighter load of Captain Crunch. Not wanting to be left out, the ocean inexplicably turns into milk, which quickly turns sour from the heat of the battle. At the end, the exertions of the battling monsters create a giant chunky tsunami, which destroys the entire island of Tahiti, including every last coconut tree, and, along with it, my dreams of escape. During the closing credits, the camera will switch to a sort of gauzy, dreamy shot of a middle-aged woman (OK, middle-aged-plus-some) laughing maniacally as she rides around in circles on the back of an ostrich and throws coconuts and cereal at the camera.

Makes about as much sense as anything else.