Minnie Mouse puts on her red and white polka dot dress in the morning. Sitting in front of her vanity, she applies lipstick and mascara with mouth open in front of her trifold mirror, and completes the ritual by moisturizing her body. Polka dots seem to harken back to past timeline, an antiquated fashion sometimes brought back for fun or to ask the viewer, “Remember When?”. Little circular, simple patterns adorning mostly women’s fashion. The dots come in all shape and sizes. I think of elephants and Dumbo and the Island of Misfit Toys. I think of stage lights, spotlights, lasers, light show. Freckles on clothing. Underwear. Big white boxer briefs with red dots. What makes them polka? What harkens them back to associating them with old, ancient music? Silk fabrics and satin held up to Minnie’s face as she folds clothing, perpetually dazed and simultaneously content. Does Mickey go to work? Where is this guy? Matching polka dot bow adorns her head like the crown of the cartoon queen she is. The sky is so perfect, only short of a rainbow. The yard is Willy Wonka-esque candy fantasy. The grass tastes like lime Twizzlers. The sprinkler watering the lawn sprays Tic-Tacs and Mike n’ Ikes. Strange saccharine ecosystem. The bark of trees taste like licorice. Mickey is in the yard working on his tan, listening to his transistor radio, noisily sipping a can of bubbles through a straw. He has on sunglasses and a straw hat. He’s reading the paper. He’s reading the Classifieds! He doesn’t have a job! It is a warm California day. He is in swim trunks and no shirt. Pluto is outside, sweating, slurping from his water bowl. He decides he can’t take it anymore and cannonballs into the in-ground pool, splashing Mickey and getting his newspapers and sunglasses all wet. He stands up, surprised and upset, shaking everything out. He grabs the towel behind his chair and hastily dries himself off. He yells as Pluto does the backstroke, laughing.