Wind Chimes and Wonder Woman
When I was just a little girl at the ripe old age of three, and precocious as can be, I'd spurned rag dolls and girlie things, embraced all things curiosity. I'd sit on the floor at Mom's feet while she was so busy working, talking while typing-- click, click, click! "Would you like to book an interview for So-and-So? I can mail you a press kit today." Tap tap tap, ding! Return. Return.. Well, I went to work myself, (both then at her feet and now) fishing out crumpled carbon paper wads from her dented little trashcan from the 1964-65 World's Fair, smoothing and smearing them all across the floor, always looking to decipher the mysterious type on the page. Slyly, slowly transfering the telltale traces off my hands and onto the walls while she wasn't looking, while trying to figure out with my eager little mind how to go about ever so innocently becoming half as brilliant and amazing as she. After al...