I catch his eye and give him a thumbs-up.
He gives me a look that promises retribution.
I’m not particularly worried. What’s he going to do? He’s trapped in an inflatable suit with twelve-inch arms.
“All right, paleontologists in training!” I call out, and twenty-two heads swivel toward me. “Welcome to the Natural History Museum’s most exclusive dinosaur expedition! I’m Professor Giggles, and I’ll be leading today’s adventure. And this”—I gesture grandly toward Leo—“is Snugglesaurus.”
I give the children a moment to take in the full majesty of a six-foot-two man in an inflatable T. rex suit.
“Now, Snugglesaurus looks tough, but here’s a secret.” I drop my voice to a stage whisper. “He actually has to do whatever you tell him.”
Leo’s head swivels toward me.
“That’s because of this.” I pull out my secret weapon. A plastic bone, painted gold, approximately the size of myforearm. “This is the Golden Bone of Command. Whoever holds the Golden Bone gets to tell Snugglesaurus what to do. And Snugglesaurus has to obey because that’s the ancient dinosaur law.”
Leo’s eyes narrow.
“Let’s start with some basics. Snugglesaurus, can you show us your scary dinosaur face?”
Leo bares his teeth through the mesh window. It’s actually quite intimidating.
The children shriek with delighted terror.
“Very good! Now, Snugglesaurus, can you do a dinosaur stomp?”
Leo stomps. The inflatable suit wobbles magnificently. Several children fall over laughing.
“Wonderful work, paleontologists! I think Snugglesaurus is ready for some more advanced commands. Now, who wants the first turn with the Golden Bone?”
Every hand shoots up. I select Thomas because it’s his birthday and because the customer is always right, even when the customer is six and has cake frosting already smeared on his face, even though we haven’t served cake yet.
“Thomas, what would you like Snugglesaurus to do?”
Thomas considers this with the gravity of a tiny emperor deciding the fate of nations.
“I want Snugglesaurus todance!”
I glance at Leo. His expression, visible through the dinosaur’s mouth, is resigned.
“You heard the man,” I say. “Snugglesaurus, show us your moves.”
I hit play on my portable speaker. TheJurassic Parktheme blares out because I have a sense of occasion.
Leo starts to dance.
And he’s actually really good.
Not good in a “this is competent” way. Good in a “this is genuinely entertaining” way. He’s incorporating the limitations of the costume into the performance, using the wobble of his inflatable body as part of the choreography, and turning the useless tiny arms into a comedic element rather than an obstacle.
He does a body roll that sends ripples through the inflatable suit. He does a move that I can only describe as a prehistoric robot. He drops into a pose like he’s a T. rex surveying his domain, all swagger and predatory confidence.
The children are transfixed.
I’m transfixed.
There’s something about watching a man who’s usually so controlled deliberately let go for the entertainment of children that melts something inside me. It makes my stomach do a weird little flip every time our eyes meet through the mesh of his dinosaur mouth.
The music ends. Leo holds his final pose.
