Even though I’m really good at secret code words (ask Anne’s bridesmaids and Kailen’s bridegrooms about the dandy ones I invented during wedding week), and even though I’ve read all the Mrs. Pollifax books as part of my training to become a little old lady CIA agent, and even though I have collected a closetful of disguises and costumes over the years, the sad truth is this: I would make a terrible spy.
This truth became abundantly clear while I attended the International MOPS Convention. It was held at Kissimmee, Florida’s gigantic resort, the Gaylord Palms. The huge atrium is decorated according to theme regions like St. Augustine, the Everglades, Key West. Every area features water falls, fountains, fake lakes and tiny streams. No matter where I went water gurgled and spouted and bubbled and dripped continually. After about two days, I was ready to grab the Gaylord employees by the collar, shove ‘em against the wall, and snarl, “You want to live to see tomorrow, buster, you turn off the water and do it now.”
That’s when I realized I could never be a spy. Two drips into Chinese water torture and I’d be singing like a canary, spilling the beans, crying like a baby, divulging state secrets. You chose the phrase. I’d be doing it.
I had prepared for poor book sales at the MOPS Convention, but they weren’t too bad. I was prepared to forget everything I’d prepared for my workshop, but remembered it easily. My expectations for networking opportunities were modest, but several doors opened.
However, giving up my dream of being an old lady spy is a sore disappointment. I’ll be in mourning for a good, long time…unless the bathroom faucet is dripping at home. In that case, I’ll be grabbing my poor husband by the collar, slamming him against the wall, and snarling, “You want to live to see tomorrow, buster, you fix the faucet and do it now.”
Not a pretty picture, is it?
