Posing As Normal© The Humor of Mary Tompsett

Full of Hot Air ........Cop lights flashed in my rearview mirror. Aw, dang it—not now! My friend and I were travel—okay, speeding—to our first hot air balloon ride! I don’t know what guys do to beg off on a ticket, but women are genetically encoded to flirt. That was peachy years ago when many cops were our peers. But then, to our chagrin, cops started looking the same age as our kids. And now, for pity’s sake, they’re all as young as the grandkids! What’s a speeding broad to do?? ........More later on that, but first let me share my vast stores of hot air, thinly disguised as ballooning tips. When shopping for a balloon company, I suggest you bypass any website with FAQs that cover organ donations. Also, if you’re young and invincible, by all means hire a pilot with a hip name like Tr?, Blaise, or Jade. But if you grew up with penny candy, dime stores, and black-and-white TV, definitely go with an Ed, Bill, or Linda. Yeah, I know, it’s reverse age discrimination. Suck it up, kids. ........Balloonering baskets come in several styles. If you’re claustrophobic, avoid the Picnic version, with its hinged lid. The Easter one is colorful but, whooey! Cellophane grass has a low burn point!! We settled on the traditional “To Hell in a Handbasket” model. ........To deflect the heat from the overhead burner, a savvy balloonite wears a hat. Worried that my lacquered beehive hairdo could catch fire, I strapped on a feathered Mardi Gras headdress. Safety Sal, that’s me. ........The balloon filled with air, and I saw only one iron-on patch. Most balloonians crochet their repairs—hopefully using small needles and a mighty tight stitch. ........I felt safe with John, a pilot whose traditional name shouted experience! Translation: John was old. Six of us joined him in the wicker cask—er, basket, standing cheek by jowl, whatever that means. I didn’t mind the tight fit because if we crashed, I could use the others to cushion my fall. Still, I felt sad we had no room for John’s seeing-eye dog. ........Takeoff was smooth, and soon we were free to walk about the railing. Haha, that woke you up, didn’t it?? John patiently answered all of the usual questions: Have you ever crashed? When’s the beverage service? Where’s the bathroom? Then I fingered a fibrous strand dangling above me and said, hmm, what’s this yarn for? ........NO!! DO NOT TOUCH!!!! Sheesh, blind pilots can be so grumpy. ........The view was amazing, and I keenly detected deer running in the fields below. What a mystical experience of oneness and harmony with nature. Did I ever tell you I’m part Native American? How I cherish my earth-centered heritage, seeing all wildlife as my brothers. Ooh, I spotted yet another deer! My four-legged brother was a huge buck!! And what a huge rack on…oh wait, heh-heh, that particular brother turned out to be a turkey. ........We had an incredible journey, with only a couple of tiny glitches. At one point I heard a Pop! Pop! Pop! I guess some nearsighted hunters were shooting at us, so scaredy-cat John threw my headdress overboard! Last I saw, a yellow lab had snagged it from a pond. The other incident—nothing, really—was when my Tourette’s flared up and I shattered the morning calm with, “HOLY %$#@!!! WE’RE GONNA DIE!!” ........Okay, back to the speeding ticket. While the twelve-year-old cop stood there, I stifled the urge to babble pleasantries such as, “Look at yooooou, such a big boy in that darling uniform! Does your mommy know you carry a gun? Lemme guess, hon, your squad car is a Fisher-Price. How do you even reach the pedals??” ........Instead, I blurted, “Heavens, what a small world! I shacked up with your grandfather at Woodstock!! How the hell is he?” ........Remember, dear readers, aging may be inevitable but maturity is optional.