Cindy

Droog

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May 19, 2008

My Surprising Three Wishes for the Genie

If a genie had popped out of a bottle this past week, granting me three wishes, he’d likely have found me the most unique client in his history. And from what I understand, genies live a long time. Forever. Or in Narnia years. Something like that.

Anyway, first, I really wish they’d make more of an effort to catch those child bank robbers.

I went inside my financial institution for the first time in about two years, to close a savings account that I hadn’t used, well, since I opened it two years ago. They’ve redesigned the interior, and as part of that, the counters are so high, that I felt exactly like I did when I was six years old, at 7-11, on my tiptoes, reaching up to plop the nickels I found under the couch cushions to buy some Laffy Taffy.

I said to my most gracious customer service representative, “Apparently, you don’t have many short clients.” I’m sure it was all she could do not to laugh as I couldn’t actually fill out my deposit slip on the counter, and had to awkwardly press the pen down really hard with my right hand, while holding the paper slip in my left.

“Actually, these higher counter tops are a safety measure to protect against robbers.”

I think I understand. If a bank robber’s going to pull a gun out of his jacket pocket, it might take him one extra second to raise it above a higher counter. But what I think these architects failed to realize is that once he does, the gun’s now pointed at this poor cashier’s face – not side. Don’t know about you, but I’d rather take a bullet to the gut than one through the bottom of my chin any day.

On the other hand, if the bank robber is four-foot-11 or under, like me, then this is a brilliant feat of design.

Second, I would have to ask the genie to please, please help me stop having fantasies about John Tartaglia, the only human star of the kids’ show Johnny and the Sprites. My son watches that show, while I attempt to make myself presentable each morning. 

Personally, I don’t catch more than a glimpse of it. I’m too busy putting SPF lotion on my face with my right hand, pulling shoes out of the closet with the left and holding the handle end of my son’s toothbrush in my mouth, cajoling him to take it from me.

So then why is it that last night, I dreamt that Johnny and I were having a picnic together at the beach? And last week, we were driving to visit my parents? Three weeks ago, he was sitting in my office, across from me at my desk, talking about our plans for the evening.

Apparently, I have a secret thing for puppeteers that just didn’t manifest itself until I had children of the age to enjoy Elmo.

My third wish would be that all of my home décor decisions involve the same inner voice that our last one did. We needed new carpet for our family room. I had it narrowed down to three choices, but the voice, a little like the one from Field of Dreams, said “Go for the beige.”

“Beige?” I said. “So boring.” 

We bought it, had it installed, and guess what? It is the exact same color as baby spit-up. Thank God for small favors, because who knew the baby growing inside me would burp up formula with every roll?

Apparently, the voice knows that building baseball fields in Iowa and buying home furnishings that match bodily functions always works out.

Thanks, genie! And if you enjoy accomplishing these enough to grant me a fourth wish, let’s talk instant potty training!

© 2008 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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