The other day my neighbor told me God made me like THIS -not sure what exactly she meant by THIS, but I suppose there must be some THIS in me, to be worth talking about. It made me wonder. The day when God(s) decided to ‘make’ me, how exactly did that go? And my imagination went wild…
Once upon the time, God looks at the universe and sighed. It was a quiet day and there was nothing useful to do, other than creating me.
“Let’s create Bridget today, I am bored and need to get creative.”
“Here,” he said with a wide grin. “Give this little girl the bluest eyes, small sausage fingers and big feet.” (Not kidding)
“Give her straight hair that she will hate all her life.” (I hope god was thoroughly entertained in the ’80s when I got the wrong perms and looked like a poodle for almost a decade.)
God stands back and looks at his creation.
“We need a bit of THIS,” and so he opens the pot with freckles and dimples and spreads them generously. Some land in the face, others at places we don’t talk about.
“Let’s drop her off in Europe, in the Alps, right between two countries, and put the longing for snow in her soul, and put the love for traveling in her veins.”
Give here a full tank of laughter and love. Fill up the anger and hate too. If she wants it, it’s there.
Make her fearless and strong, make her anxious and weak.
No butt, big boobs and oh, let’s make her a feminist. THIS is going to be fun to watch.
She needs a heavy dose of disappointment in her life. Let’s place some death in it, betrayal and hurt. The human mixture I am so proud of.
Let her be critical but sensitive. Give her an ocean of tears to share.
Let her love and protect animals and bacon the same way. (No kidding! It’s a birth defect!)
Color only in the eyes, the hair doesn’t need any, just mix something together she doesn’t want to look at.
Make her tall, but small inside. Give her protective instincts and the desire to use them when needed.
Let her grow up poor, with the taste of the rich (Not kidding I find the most expensive thing in every shop.)
Let her suffer a bit now and then and give her joy. Free will like all the other, perhaps a bit more -just for the fun of it, even though it doesn’t make any sense, because it’s all up to me. Right?
This girl needs a brain and good instincts, let’s pair it with donkey laughter and oh, before I forget, let’s take the filter out between brain and mouth,” THIS is going to be fun.
Voila, there I was. Created perfection!
“Will she be a believer?” a helper asked.
“Unlikely’ god answered.” THIS has too many questions.