Posing As Normal© The Humor of Mary Tompsett

Secrets I still rock when I see my name in print, thanks to a deep-rooted insecurity. Growing up, I wanted to be a nun. Not to serve God, but to wear the swishy veil and that humongous, clicking rosary. When I wear my UV-blocker shades, I imagine I’m Superwoman with x-ray vision. I like to think that my aura is way more sparkly than most people’s. At work, sometimes I park my car so it can look at the lake. In 1975 on Cape Cod, I stopped shaving my legs. People assume it was a women’s lib thing, but really I caved to peer pressure. I can never see the hidden image in a “magic picture.” Ever. Maybe it’s the sparkly aura. One of my finer moments was the time I shlepped two cats with claws through the subways and streets of Boston in a (please, don't try this) cardboard pet carrier. Occasionally I choose socks from the back of the drawer, just to be fair and give them a day outside. If ever I’m taken hostage at gunpoint, I plan to fake a seizure.