…Or Reincarnation Story Number 11:
The next time I’m born I don’t want to have a mouth because if I do I’m probably going to have oral surgery 15 times, as I’ve had in this life and I’m not keen on it, plain and simple.
But wait, if I don’t have a mouth then I can’t eat. Frankly, I don’t mind not having the ability to talk but I don’t want to starve–unless, of course, I take food intravenously, which sounds inconvenient, especially when eating out. Boy, can you imagine ordering? Yes, I’ll have the sushi, intravenously. The spinach salad, intravenously. The Filet Mignon, intravenously–no, wait. I don’t like beef. Doesn’t sit well with me. Bleah!
Okay, so let’s start over. The next time I’m born, I want a mouth, but no gums. I draw the line at gums, for that’s what got me into this viscous cycle of oral surgery in the first place. If need be, I’ll use scotch tape to keep my teeth in place. Sure, they might rattle like chimes when the wind blows but I don’t care. Anything to avoid gums and having to floss. Besides, when I come back, evolution may have eliminated gums and replaced them with something else that can’t get inflamed. I’d be okay with that.
Okay, now where was I? Oh yes, other things I want to see in my next life:
Legs that you only need to shave once and they remain hairless forever. Ditto armpits.
I want to be able to be in two places at once, but only when necessary, like the time I was eight and finally scored a date with Fred, my grade school crush, only to discover it was on the very same day my parents had arranged to visit our cousins in the Bronx. Sheesh! Talk about the one that got away!
I want to have a photographic memory so I can get all A’s in school and remember everybody’s names when I’m out networking at some after-work cocktail party. Heck, I’d be happy just to remember the names of people I encounter everyday, like my kids.
I want to come back with the ability to read maps so that I always know exactly where I’m going. No more disorientation for me, like the time I stayed at the Grand Old Opry Hotel in Nashville and couldn’t find my way to the hotel bathroom because the place is built like a friggin’ maze. Thank heavens my daughter was with me, else I might still be there trying to find my way to the lobby. She was only seven, but somehow managed to get us where we needed to be in two shakes.
I’d like to return with a knack for languages so that when I travel to Italy or China, I can speak the language like a native, after being there only a couple of days.
I want to know what my goals and life ambition are by the time I’m 12 so I don’t sound like a dolt when Aunt Fanny asks me what I want to be when I grow up. That’s assuming I have the same relatives I’ve had in this life, of course.
If I don’t, then I want to be born into a very prominent (read “wealthy”) family, like the Hilton’s, the Rockefeller’s or the Z’s (as in Jay Z). But not the Kennedy’s. They have the worst luck.
In my next life, I want to be a size 2 and 5’8″ tall, so that everything I wear looks smokin’ on me and the biggest fashion designers around beg me to wear their latest fare. I want to be born in the states again–preferably on one of the coasts–but I want to speak with a proper British accent so that I sound like I came out of a Jane Austen novel. Simply posh.
I want to be born with such smarts that scientists consult me before inventing anything, and government officials ask me to weigh in on a gamut of public policy and diplomacy decisions. Astronauts will come to me, wanting to know the best route to Jupiter, and chefs will seek my advice on preparing salmon–poached or flambéed?
The United Nations will ask me to be their ambassador, and I’ll have a direct line to the White House so I can ring up the President whenever I need a personal favor. And I know she’ll be happy to oblige.
By the time I am reborn, Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream will have come true. Race won’t be an issue, as everyone will be judged on their character and not by the color of their skin. The scars of slavery will be like the sound of a distant drum, and yes, Rodney King, we will at last all get along.
When I return, opportunities will abound for all, including access to a good, affordable education. Guns will be displayed in museums as a relic of the past, eagles will soar and endangered species will thrive. The polar caps will freeze again, polar bears will dance the Horah, and chocolate will come in one flavor only: non-fattening.
What? You can’t imagine a future like that–with my reincarnated self in it?
Well, look at Steve Jobs! He’s first on the list of 10 Interesting Cases of Supposed Reincarnation. Word has it that he’s a celestial philosopher in some glass palace overlooking Apple headquarters. (Naturally he’d want to be near his company, to keep an eye on things.)
If he can do it, then I assure you, so can I! Reincarnation Story Number 11. That’s going to be me!
Of course, it goes without saying, but please don’t hold your breath.
Now, how about you? What improvements would you like to see in your next life?