“Hi, Aunt Dragon!” a post-toddler waves from the computer screen. I wave back, my parents fight off giggles, Sib-in-law looks amused and Sib ducks a little. It’s bad enough that strangers assume Red 2.0 is mine, because she looks very much like me, minus the age spots. Now she’s decided that Aunt Alma is not my proper name. And it’s my fault. A dragon followed me home 4 years ago.
I had gone to the drug-n-stuff store to get drugstore things. By the front doors, beside the Christian tee-shirts and the “personalized flashing key-chains,” there was a rotating rack of the kind that used to hold paperback books. Except that now it held high-end puppets, the kind that look like fancy stuffed animals. And one was a 3′ long Asian dragon in crimson metallic red. Exactly what I had not gone to the store for. it cost forty dollars. I had no use for a three-foot long Asian dragon puppet. I had no place to put a three-foot long Asian dragon puppet.
It followed me home to Schloß Red. And it moved to Redquarters with me, to live in a closet. because I have no use for a three-foot-long metallic crimson Asian dragon puppet.
And along came Red 2.0, who loves the thing. She especially loves to be chased by the thing. Which means Aunt Alma has to chase a giggling, racing toddler through the house, around corners, jumping out from behind the sofa, lurking in the shadows . . .
And now I’m Aunt Dragon.