Here’s my main problem in life: I have appendages.

Now, I know you’re thinking, “MEG! YOU NEED APPENDAGES! ARMS AND LEGS, THEY ARE GOOD! AND EARS! AND YOUR NOSE!”

Yes, yes, I know.

BUT.

If a part of me sticks out, it becomes a candidate for bruising, smacking, slamming, whacking and/or laceration. In fact, this very morning, I smacked my nose on the edge of my bathroom sink, and was fifteen minutes late to work because I had to change my bloody shirt (and I mean that in the THERE’S BLOOD ON ME way, not the TALLY HO, I’M BRITISH way.)

I actually can’t think of a single sticky-outy part of my body that hasn’t ended up with a wound of some sort over the course of my 35 years.

Sometimes, these wounds are dramatic, and result in shunts and IVs and weird scars.

Sometimes, they are less dramatic, and only result in me swearing under my breath (oh, who am I kidding? out loud) and spinning in place like a dervish.

BUT IMAGINE IF I WERE A WEEBLE.

I WOULD WOBBLE — not unlike the wobbling I do daily, into desk edges, counter edges, doorframes, car doors, cupboard doors, turnstiles, bus poles, dressers, chairs, people walking by, signs, parking meters, fish tanks, washroom stall doors, wall sconces, passing cars, wildlife, air — BUT I WOULD NOT FALL DOWN.

There wouldn’t be any parts of me to smack on anything except, well… ME. And because I’d be soft and inflatable, I’d just bounce off objects like a reverse magnet.

Funny, though… I never thought I’d dream of being a blow-up doll.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: I know, I know. Weebles are not the actual inflatable things, they are the small hard things. But I called them all by the same name as a child. AND I STILL DO. THEY WOBBLE. THEY DO NOT FALL DOWN.)