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Wednesday, January 13, 2010

The calling

I've only flown once, to Aunt Cintia's funeral. But I knew it was my future career right away. Mama laughed to hear me say it, but what would she know? She had her eyes shut the whole time, and was popping pills to boot. Ruled by fear, that's what I say, and no imagination. So I'm four foot eight, height/weight proportionate--for Jabba the Hut. I know that. And I know they want you to get into these little uniforms like dolls. But picture me saying Tray table up, Sugar: I wouldn't be towering over the businesspeople in first class, I'd be right at their level. And you know they don't like to be talked down to. Plus there's my voice. Gravelly, soothing, soft. I have the speeches memorized: In the unlikely event of a water landing, your seat can be used as a flotation device... makes you want to go swimming, practically, doesn't it? Plus my talents in massage and sachet-making, to bring a creative touch to the flight experience. And shot-put. I am best in class bar none. Those gals they have up there would break like candy canes in a heavy lifting emergency, but not me. I am solid. And CPR trained, and I can mix drinks, and am the least queasy ever. I tell you what. I will reach great heights.

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