What I Want Today. You Know, Because It's Thursday. . .

I'm taking part in Sass' Things I Want Thursdays today because I totally might win a cool prize.  (I may also win the $200 million in the lottery tomorrow night, but I still want the prize anyhow. . .)

So this is how it works:  I write down the things I want, and Sass somehow magically sees that I get them.  You know, kind of like Santa. 


And so I'll let you get a glimpse into my head right now, but I'm warning you . . . it isn't pretty!   And I'm afraid poor Sass is going to have to be a little less like Santa and a whole more like God.

__________

I want . . . to never again have to write down the numbers "3" and "5" next to the words "age at death" on a funeral sheet.  I want big old numbers there instead. . .  you know. . .  like "9" and "2"  or "8" and "9".  Numbers like that.  And I want to never again have to wonder if a church that seats 500 will be big enough to hold all of the mourners.  The best earthly send-offs are those where the bigger party is the reunion taking place on the other side.

I also want . . . to turn back the hands of time just for a day and  be prepared with a different reaction when a convicted child molester walks into my place of employment and hands me a present because he likes my poetry.  WTF???  Did I hear my-stupid-self say Thank You????

I want. . . . all skinny-tall-elf-like-crazy-people-with-extra-long-fingernails who are looking for gas money to travel back to Connecticut to get there by some other means rather than to come around asking me for money.  I don't have an internal truth detector for folks like you .  I do want to warn you - however - not to drive thru the high-speed EZ Pass lanes on the Tappen Zee Bridge unless you want to get hit with a hefty fine exactly one year from now. . .

And while we're at it, I want . . .  someone to tell that sales guy who has been working out of  the conference room all week that he doesn't have to steal the bagels and splenda packets from the breakfast bar at his hotel and bring them to me like he's serving me breakfast in bed or something. . .


Oh, and I want. . .  my own office, 'cause how is a gal like me supposed to get any serious work done when she's working in a flippin' fishbowl.  Or nuthouse.  You decide.

And just a word to the Grim Reaper?  I didn't mean to upset the whole life/death balance of the universe again.   I just want folks to get a good shot at living before they die. . .