Oh, to be bad. Really bad – not just ate the wrong foods bad and tried to pass off the store bought cupcakes as homemade ones for your daughter’s birthday bad, but BAD. (The trick on that last one? Smash down the pretty icing and randomly apply mismatched sprinkles. Works like a charm!)
There are some who might claim that I showed early promise for a life of crime. My nickname as a child was “Tricky Fingers Tracy” because I displayed a unique ability to pick locks for my grandparents. (That sounds wrong. Let me clarify. They didn’t encourage me to pick other people’s locks; rather just the locks that they themselves owned but had lost the keys to.) Anyway, besides the nickname, I also showed anti-establishment tendencies by refusing – adamantly refusing – to join either The Brownies or The Girl Scouts. True, my sole reason for not joining these socially conscious and morally focused organizations wasn’t that I was bent on bucking authority but rather I found the uniforms to be utterly heinous. Honestly. Dirt brown and olive green? Sooo, not my colors. Then there were my movie choices: anything dark, macabre or dealing with the little guy taking on the establishment I loved. Alec Guinness in The Lavender Hill Mob? Delightful! Walter Matthau in Charley Varrick? Yes, please! Frank Sinatra in Ocean’s Eleven? You betcha.
Anyway, other than those early signs of nefarious tendencies, I did not embark on a life of crime. But that didn’t mean I didn’t dream. And when I dream it’s in Technicolor. Blame those early movies or the later ones like The Italian Job but I think it would be incredible fun to be part of a heist. A real stick-it-to-the-man heist. (By the way, I’ve no idea who “the man” is.) I also want to be the girl who drives the car fast – and by car, I mean not my mini van and by fast I mean not just racing to get the kids to soccer practice on time at least once this season but FAST! I want fruit flying out of stands (and that means
I’ll need a crew of course. There will be a suave leader (who is secretly attracted to me – no, make that secretly smitten with me; my dream, my rules). There has to be one guy who works the computer – someone who keeps screaming something about a compromised mainframe and needing more time; like Scotty on StarTrek but geekier. There will also be the guy who doesn’t think I’m tough enough to be on the crew – someone who doubts me and challenges me at every turn but in the end is my biggest fan. Finally, there has to be the guy who is the double crosser. I will, of course, be the one to unmask him and maybe I’ll receive a slight gun shot wound to the leg or arm in the process but it will only serve to make me cooler. Through some amazing brilliant plan (of mine) the blame of the heist will be laid at the double crosser’s doorstep and we will all be cleared of any wrong doing.
Once the heist is complete (and I’ve put a cute little bandage around my wound), we will split our earnings - hug it out with each other and then and suave leader and I will head off into some European sunset.
You have to admit – it beats smashing the icing down on cupcakes.