Of all the people I could be, most of them wear glasses. Several of them wear contacts, although only one has opted for the kind that tint her (my) eyes teal.

Some of the people I could be live in Scotland. I’ve never really understood why, but they say that they like the wind there, and I have to honor their choice.

Some of the people I could be lead photo safaris in Kenya, pointing out leopards by day and quietly drinking bourbon in their (my) tents alone, watching the sunset.

Most of the people I could be shy away from crowds and loud noises. One of us is a music event promoter, but that hardly counts, because the artists are all thoughtful, aware, singer songwriters who have grown their hair out to look the part.

None of the people I could be care much about cars. One of us drives a Maserati that she inherited from an aunt. She drives it, but says it’s not worth the cost of the insurance, or the men who come up to her wanting to talk about it. 

Almost all of the people I could be think they love springtime more than they really do. One of the exceptions enjoys playing in mud puddles, but she talks about it too much.

All of the people I could be are passionate about gardening: they either love it or can’t stand it. No one is lukewarm about it.

We are having a party – or what passes for a party, since most of us don’t like noise or crowds. All the people I could be have rented Madison Square Garden to see what happens when we’re all in the same place. I’m looking forward to it, but it could be as disappointing as springtime.