Alan stood on the chair at the head of the table and tucked his hands into his armpits and then curled up the toes of his all-stars and looked down at them, “This is how the Emperor Penguin holds his egg in the middle of an Antarctic blizzard.”
He saw the faces around the table snicker nervously, unsure of what his next move would be. He swelled with the attention, enjoyed the fact that they weren’t sure what he might do next.
A waiter maneuvered to his side, “Sir, the chairs are meant to sit on, only.”
“My dear man, I’ve got to be careful of the egg on my feet, I can’t just hop off of here on your whim,” he said and hunched a bit more as if the winds of the blizzard were strengthening.
Alan watched the waiter glance around nervously. The other diners were beginning to focus on the scene. He felt as if he were floating above them all in the room. In his imagination he floated above the tables, flapping his little stubby wings and gliding beneath the ice in search of a juicy plump squid.
Sarah stood up and put her arm on his wing, “Alan, I think it’s time to pretend the blizzard has reached it’s peak and you need to shut down non-essential organs, like your brain, to survive.”
He looked down at her and saw the concern in her eyes. Then he focused on the plate of grilled salmon and vegetables in front of him and the big glass of white wine sweating next to it. Then he slid down into his seat, picked up his knife and fork, lifted them and smiled at the faces swirling around him and said, “Bon appetit!”