Me = Future Lady Spy

On the way into work today home from the boyfriend’s this morning,  I received my calling.

It was a rather spiritual moment, actually.

I’ve always wondered what I’d be when I grew up. And now I know.

A lady spy! 

Now, there are a few reasons why this is a very bad fit for me. But being the eternal optimist, I feel I could overcome these obstacles for the sheer cool factor of being a lady spy. (Can I get a fake lipstick container with a camera in it?!)

Obstacle #1 – I cannot walk in stilettos. A fact I proved this summer when I purchased an uber high pair of stiletto sandals. I wore them once. See, this guy I was dating REALLY liked heels. And me, trying to be the vixen that I’m clearly not, aimed to show out.  There is nothing sexy about  constantly wobbling ankles and white knuckle gripping your date’s suit coat every time you stand up.

Obstacle #2 I drive like a granny. Apparently to be a lady spy, you have to be able to race motor boats, pedal to the medal a sports car and fly in and out of expressway lanes riding a motorcycle.  I typically stick to the right lane, pass only when in front of someone who drives slower than I do (rarely) and won’t even back out of my parking space without putting on my seatbelt.

Obstacle #3 I can’t dance. I mean I REALLY can’t dance. It’s bad. No, it’s awful. I can’t even two step. It’s like  Two. Steps.  and I can’t do either one. I’ve tried. Oh, I’ve tried. Most recently, I attended a work function that had dancing at it. A 21 year-old (someone’s son) asked me to dance. It was horrendous. Not only was I uncomfortable. HE was uncomfortable. By the end of the song, we were both kind of standing there awkwardly waving to the beat (aka waiting for the stupid song to end and put us out of our misery.)

Obstacle #4 – I probably couldn’t blog anymore if I were a spy. It just seems like it might be akin to a  party foul in the spy world.

Based on #4, I think it’s best if I leave the spying to the professionals.

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