Saturday, March 18, 2006
When You Wish Upon A Star
But that is a partial lie. I still pick up lucky pennies, ask the magic 8 ball for advice (over and over until I get the answer I want), and wish on the first star I see every night. Not only do I wish, but I carefully select my wish (i.e. “I wish I was thinner” is qualified with “in a healthy way, of course, and not due to some horrible disease"). And no, my wishes aren’t always selfish and vain. Sometimes when I wish for a pony I wish all the poor little girls and boys could have a pony, too.
I guess I am a fair-weather believer. Four leaf clover? Bring it on. Broken mirror? Oh well. Perhaps this is because I figure evil and badness doesn’t need any help. If it wants to find me, it’ll find me. But good luck and happiness might just need a little reminder.
That being said, here is a little story about a time I was certain wishing made it so…
When we first started dating, Ah-sweep-ay bought us tickets to a circus. It was one of those low-rent “big tops” that sets up in a parking lot on the edge of town. Nonetheless, in these sorts of things, I am like a three-year-old all gakked out on cotton candy and shaking with excitement. It was all he could do to get me to our seats without having to buy me a headband with glow-in-the-dark bouncy antennae. About half way through, Ah-sweep-ay expressed some displeasure about the lameness of the circus. I said, “Well, It’s not Barnum and Bailey…What do you expect? A giant metal ball with some guy riding his motorcycle upside down in it?” The lights suddenly lowered…”LADIES AND GENTLEMAN”…a giant metal ball was brought to center ring…”PREPARE TO BE AMAZED”…not one but two guys on motorcycles rode into it…”PREPARE TO BE AWED”…and a girl in a horrible sequined leotard stepped into the ball…”THE FABULOUS BLAH-BLAH-BLAH BROTHERS”. We went crazy. After discussing which one of the brother’s the leotard was most likely sleeping with, I spent the rest of the circus going, “What did you expect? Midgets on unicycles playing basketball?”
Alas, lightening only strikes once. Unless, of course, it’s zapping my ass.