What if??

I hop on the scale nearly every morning. The last few days, though, the number hasn’t made me happy. Sometimes it bums me out for a whole day after those few moments on that dirty lying scale even if it’s up only a pound or two. But today I had another thought. What if four months ago I’d weighed a hundred and way too much? Sort of like the prize tuna you might see on that reality show, Wicked Ways. “Yo, Alphonse, take a looka here. Some nice fat fillets on this baby, huh?” 

Suppose that’s what I’m thinking when I got on the scale today but when I see that same number - Holy Tuna – down ten pounds! Why, I’d be doing the Yippy Skippy dance all over the bathroom – trying hard, of course, to keep from knocking over the planter with my (still pretty wide) hips. I would be over the moon with joy if that were true. I think for the next few days I’m going to pretend I’m a tuna. A tinier one – the kind Alphonse would throw back.

On my way to drop off some book flyers this afternoon I saw a young boy walking in the rain. It occurred to me that I should stop and offer him a ride. I did that once. A boy had fallen off his bike and when I asked him if he needed a ride he looked at me like I was Charles Manson in drag or something. He sort of crawled backwards on the ground and croaked, "That's okay, my mom's coming."

But, as I was worrying about this kid in the rain I thought. .  . what if I did give him a ride and he turned out to be one of those shape-shifters you read about in trashy novels. Yeah, what if I let him in the back seat and halfway up the road he shifts into a snarly bad dude with muscles out the window and pointy devil teeth. He garrotes me from behind, grabs the wheel, and takes my limp carcass down to the creek plopping me in to sleep with the fishes. Who would make hubby dinner then, huh?

Turns out I passed that boy on the way back and he was a teen not a ten year old. He looked a little bit surly so I was okay with passing him by. He’ll probably tell his kids about the old lady in a silver Toyota who left him in the rain that day. I’m glad I’m not depriving him of a great olden day’s story. He doesn’t know how lucky he is.

This rainy weather makes my hair frizz. Badly. I always covet the straight shiny hair of other women I know. Neither rain nor snow nor dark of night ever makes them look like Chewbacca on steroids. But until the cooler fall weather comes I’m stuck with it.

But what if I didn’t have this thick curly hair and instead had to use that spray can stuff that covers thin spots? I’ve seen commercials for something like that lately. Geez, what if I had to go that route. Of course I’d buy the stuff by stealth. I’d hit the CVS real early in the morning with no makeup on and a ratty scarf over my balding head. I’d scurry back home and lock the bathroom door to apply it. Yes, I’d read the enclosure. Give me some credit here. 

Anyway, it would look great. Sure it would. And I’d completely ignore that little trickle down the back of my neck later at the glamorous barbeque given by Don Juan of the Stars. I’d assume anyone staring would be admiring my J.C. Penney lavender lurex ensemble. Just kidding. I don’t know Don. But you can imagine it, can’t you?

All these “what if’s” are kind of scary so I guess I’ll quit complaining about my extra few pounds and frizzy hair. That way maybe the next shape-shifter I encounter will nod and know I’m one of them.

I’ll shift back to sleek haired and skinny come fall. Oh, yes I will.  

Image: Aduldej                                                                       Free Digital Photos