Please don’t make me be an Easter bonnet with all those yellows and pinks. I can’t wear yellow or pink, I never could. And not an Australian macho hat, or a floppy-brimmed thing with plastic cherries, or anything with fur or feathers or a veil. If I have to be a hat, why not a beret. Black of course, what else?
Please don’t make me be a plant in my own house. You know how I am with plants, how the African violet has shrunk down to nothing, how the Wandering Jew is stopped dead in its tracks. If I have to be a plant, ship me off to Kay’s in Boston, she’s good with plants, plus she’s a vegetarian and a swing dancer and she likes turtles. I think I’d have a chance if you gave me to Kay. Sure, I’ll give you her address, I could do that.
Please don’t make me be a bell on a red ribbon on that crazy woman’s ankle. I’ve heard her clanking across the street, everybody stares, I would hate that. If I have to be a bell could you put me in a kindergarten class where all the kids could come up and ring me, or maybe on a string of rope with other bells at the back door of a house where a kind, quiet poet lives. Or else could you give me to the Tibetan monks? Come to think of it, that would be best. I would really like to go to the monks.
Please don’t make me be Monopoly. I never liked Monopoly. You know I’m bad with money. Not jacks, either, or pick-up-sticks, or jump rope or anything with a ball and a bat. Solitaire? Are you kidding? I’d be so lonely. I’ve got a choice between solitaire or jacks, that’s it? Can you give me a minute? I’ll get back to you, okay?
Please don’t make me be America. I’ve had it with America. And not Poland or Brazil or Guatemala or France. I’m terrible with languages. Or any place too north or too south. I don’t do well with extremes. Thanks, but no thanks. England? Well yeah, sure, England would be great. I didn’t realize that was an option. Definitely, make me England. If I’m England I’ll take solitaire. No, I don’t need any more time to consider. Really, you thought I’d pick jacks? I guess you don’t know me that well, do you?
Please don’t make me be six a.m. Or midnight. Or noon, either. How about 8:20? Either a.m. or p.m., it really doesn’t matter. No, I don’t care, a.m. or p.m., they’re both okay with me. Oh, alright then, a.m. No, wait, p.m. No, a.m. Yes, I’m certain, a.m. I said already: a.m.
Please make me something chocolate. I don’t care what — a cake, a malted, a mousse, a donut, a pudding — anything. But not an Easter bunny. I know I just said I didn’t care what, but I really do. Easter bonnets, Easter bunnies, they’re just not me.
You think I’m too demanding? Me? I thought you wanted my input. Oh. You were just humoring me. Sorry, I didn’t understand the rules. Okay, I take it all back, I’ll just leave it up to you. I suppose you know what you’re doing? You do, don’t you? Fine then, whatever you think is best. For all of it, the whole thing, not just the chocolate. I leave it in your hands. Entirely. I trust you.
Yes, I do.
Yes, already, how many times do I have to say it?