An Angry Pudding

I rubbed my eyes, as the dimness I had stepped into didn't seem to be receding. There was a sense of not only visual but textural fuzziness, as my steps weren't finding purchase with any sort of solid surface and my groping hands seemed to close on cottony greyness. It was frightfully annoying. Nevertheless, I had encountered this in dreams before and knew such a condition was not likely to remain so for long. I continued to grope my way forward until I heard a sharp and pompous voice snap "Come on then! You do know how to walk don't you?"

I angrily snapped back "I most certainly do- but I have the habit of doing so ON THE FLOOR. And there doesn't seem to be one here. So I can't exactly walk very well if there's nothing to step on now can I?" The pompous voice heaved a deep sigh and I felt both hands being yanked forward- the rest of my body following like a balloon follows a string. The scene faded into view- a sun dappled hallway lined with tall pillars trimmed in golds and pale greens swam before my eyes and then solidified. "Well you're doing it ALL WRONG." The disembodied voice retorted (with considerable snark, I might add).

I looked off to my left to address the voice to find it no longer disembodied, but inhabiting a short pudding of a man dressed richly in antique looking clothing- and not surprisingly a pair of those dreadful puffy balloon pants that one sees in Elizabethan era portraits. No wonder he was so angry. Anyone in pale lavender poofy pants trimmed in green piping and copious gold ribbons had a right to be. The man rolled his eyes at me, and his nose went blue.

"Cuthbert?" I said tentatively. (and biting my lip hard so as not to laugh)
"That's SIR Cuthbert Bluenose, Palace Steward" said the little man, bowing low in a jiggly sort of way, and removing his hat (which truly did look like the top of a pudding).
"La Valtana has sent me to escort you to her chambers where the audience shall take place." I started to move forward but he stuck out a pudgey arm and snorted "NOT IN THAT."
His beady eyes addressed my pajamaed condition with disdain and he wiped his hands on his poofy pants as if he had just shaken hands with a pile of mucous. "La Valtana is to be treated with the utmost respect and therefore you shall abide by royal decree No. J-78 which clearly states that all visitors must be wearing the appropriate garb in the presence of the Royal Valtarans or they shall be forced to leave the palace."
"Alright...I would love to do so, but I haven't any other clothes."

Cuthbert's nose turned the color of smashed blueberry pie. "No. Other. Clothes. You impossible girl. Don't you know anything?"

"Apparently not, SIR, as I have never been here before and your lovely note did not make mention for me to bring any clothing. Never mind the fact that I couldn't even get-"

"RIGHT! There!!" he said gesturing impatiently at me. I looked down to see I was now wearing courtly attire- a full skirted pale green dress with violet and gold embroidery and sheer violet oversleeves. I was examining my tiny green silk slippers peeking out from beneath the skirt when Cuthbert barked"Next time, do it yourself. It's not rocket science." He turned and strode forward. "This way miss. Waste makes paste. We are not to waste La Valtana's precious time."

He wibbled forward and I followed. (Waste makes paste? Whatever little man.)

The hallway was long, lined with tall windows that were framed by marble pillars, and the floor was tiled in white and green. Sunlight spilled in, but was so bright that I couldn't get a sense of what was outside the windows themselves. There were ornate golden stands holding large flags every few feet, and wallpaper that simply writhed with purple and green brocade flowers on the wall sections behind them. The hall made a turn to the right, and while it was still lined with windows on one side, the other was covered with large portrait paintings of fascinating ladies, all of whom were wantonly encrusted with fabrics and trinkets.

Every portrait was lovelier than the next- each lady was adorned in impossible hues of decadent fabrics, with coiffures that normal gravity would not oblige. I began getting so caught up in the faces, that Cuthbert hrumphed loudly at me and clicked his heels together in frustration at my lagging behind. Continuing on, we approached an enormous door which looked as if the baroque period had vomited gold cherubs in an unseemly fashion all over the front. Cuthbert stepped forward and grasped the handle, which giggled, and pulled the door ajar slightly. He peeked about through the door crack and then turned to me, his nose fading to a pleasing periwinkle. "She is ready for you. I will announce your presence, there will be a fanfare, and you are to curtsey. You know how to curtsey, yes?"
"Yes."
"Right then. After me."
He opened the door wide for me and followed me through.