Well, it is almost summer, and you know what that means. No. I’m not talking about swimming, tanning, vodka lemonade, or golf. I’m talking about the end of the television season. All of the good shows will be on hiatus, including my current favorite, The Americans. If you have not seen The Americans, you should start watching it, especially if any of the following sounds familiar: Cold War, President Reagan, voodoo economics, Jordache, reliable American cars. I don’t want to give too much away because I want everyone to watch the show so it doesn’t get cancelled. Basically, The Americans is about Russian KGB agents who pose as average Americans during the cold war. It has all of the makings of a great show, suspense, espionage, violence, and 80’s music.
Watching the first season of the Americans started me thinking. Could I be a spy? Felicity, I mean Keri Russell, makes it look so easy. She is downright ferocious, definitely tougher than her “husband” Matthew Rhys. It’s a good thing he is a cutey because he is a wimp. Anyway, after a lot of thinking/day dreaming, I’ve decided that there is no way I could be a spy, and here is why.
First of all, I hate any physical discomfort with a white-hot passion. This is also why I’m not an athlete. So, I could not take a beating and keep quiet. One slap and I would be singing.
Second, I am a Native Floridian, and I do not tolerate cold temperatures. All the enemy would have to do is set me in a walk-in freezer or a hotel conference room for 10 minutes and I would gladly hand over the microfilm. Why is it always microfilm? Maybe it’s a jump drive now since it’s not the 80’s anymore.
I am not a nice hungry person. At all. Maybe this would work in my favor, now that I really think about it, because I could probably kill a room full of spies for a plate of pasta.
I have the bladder of a flea, so I would have to pee within an hour of captivity. All they would have to do is give me a large glass of iced tea and show me a nice clean bathroom. I would be singing. I would probably be dancing, too, as I would have trouble holding it while I gave the information necessary to gain access to that porcelain heaven.
Unlike a lot of people, I HATE to travel. Planes make me nervous and any change in my diet gives me, how do I put this delicately, stomach issues. Spies pretty much have to travel and eat weird things. I mean, that is in the job description.
Finally, the thing that would really keep me from being a spy is my big mouth. I would blog about my job or make snarky comments on Facebook and tag the Russian embassy. If I am irritated, the world knows.
A few months ago, I had an outpatient procedure that required a ”prep.” You can just put two and two together there, MMKAY. Anywho, apparently, when I was coming out from under anesthesia, I expressed my hatred for Fort Wayne, IN, the town we lived in before this one. I have no recollection of doing this. So, this started me thinking. What do spies do when they have anesthesia? Surely, they say things they aren’t supposed to, right? Does another agent wait in the recovery room with the ill spy and shoot him or her if too much information is spilled?
So, basically, I’m going to stick to my day job. I work from home in my jammies, and I can eat whatever I want. Plus, I looked online and both the CIA and FBI are very unlikely to accept a chubby, 41 year-old, um, I mean skinny 27 year-old, mom to help them win the war on terror. Oh, well.