Today’s LetsBlogOff topic is: “If I could turn back time.”
I tend to get maudlin when I start thinking along these lines. I start wondering, “What if?”
What if…I had continued working on the ranch in Mt. Pleasant training quarter horses?
What if…I had taken a chance and moved to L.A. or New York?
What if…I had made a million other decisions differently? Are there parallel universes out there in which I am living those other lives? Wouldn’t it be fantastic if after each decision you make, a game show host – let’s say, Monty Hall, pops up and shows you what’s behind Curtain #2 so you could see what WOULD have been? Then you could have instant regret, instead of getting 5 or 10 years down the line before realizing you blew it.
We don’t get to the afterlife and have someone tell us, “Well, you kinda’ wasted that XX years, didn’t you? Why don’t we try again? This time, don’t be such a wuss.” At least, I don’t THINK that’s how it goes. None of my sources say so. Best case scenario is that you come back – but as something else. (Too bad I can’t come back as my own dog, because she lives the life of Riley.)
Tip: If you get there before I do and you’re given the option, ask to be my dog. Two meals a day, any and every cushion in the house at your disposal, and constant scratches. Second best gig? Come back as my friend Max’s dog. Her feet almost never touch the ground and she is allowed to drink from his glass. Including small sips of booze. Actually, coming back as Max’s dog may be better.
Plus, as an added bonus – if you’re a dog – your biggest decision is which spot of grass to pee on, or should you lick… nevermind. I have gotten WAY off track. This is supposed to be about turning back time.
So, if I could turn back time, I would…
…put down that slice of pizza and NEVER, EVER try it. Then I wouldn’t know what I’m missing when I’m NOT eating pizza – which is way more of the time than I would like. Same goes for queso.
…rethink that whole Flashdance wardrobe I had in the early 80s.
…not punch my friend for biting my brother in the back. (She really did jump on his back and bite him when we were about 6 years old.)
No, wait. I think that was a good decision. I’ll keep that one.
…lift my shirt and show my you-know-whats when I was on stage at the Chili Cook Off in Terlingua (assisting with beer bong duties) and the whole side of the hill was chanting my name. College. What a waste of perfectly good brain cells.
Lastly, I would…
…demand better gifts for Christmas than what I received as a child. (At least the year this photo was taken.) Look at this expression. Then read the top of the box.
Potty People? Really?