And Junior Mints

I am running around breathlessly, trying to do it all. There are followers, admirers, helpers but this is my fantasy. An orphanage, a dog shelter, and a home for unwed mothers. It is the sixties, when they were tormented and abused for being so. Add a movie theater, a skating rink and a dance studio I call to an assistant. She jots some notes and hurries away, toward the children’s clown college. “What can I do?” Dirk, one of my most persistent fawners asks. Can you feed the sheep? Goats? Missouri mules? He nods and runs off happy. I am still walking at a brisk clip, checking things out, making sure they are right. My assistant’s assistant runs over to ask “popcorn in the theaters? And Junior Mints, I tell him. “And I want that theater built by tomorrow night.” All possible when you are a nine-year-old child But how in the hell did I know about unwed mothers? This was 1961, and my parents told me nothing. I still ponder this recurring dream I had every night for a year.