"What about childhood heros?" I thought. What did I want to be when I was 8? A witch. And not in the study the philosophy of the occult, hippy, Wiccan sense. I wanted to be the kinda Witch they used as rope quality control agents in Salem. Now, I was not a particularly worldly child, but I could figure out that if witches were the agents of the devil, and I wanted to be a witch, then the quickest route to my goals would be...yeah, summon the devil. For a few weeks, with help of my best friend, I spent recess every day trying to deduce some method of procuring a demonic visit. The majority of my efforts involved the strategic positioning of sticks at the base of trees and the most sinister thing I was able to scare up was the playground aid. Not wanting to give up so easily I decided to undertake a bit of reading on the subject to see if I could unearth a more productive method of devil-calling. I learned two things: 1-the public library had shamefully few books on the history and making of witches, 2- HOLY CRAP! I AM NOT DOING THAT WITH A GOAT!!...and so ended my aspirations to become a witch. So, no offense Mr. Lucifer, but I think I shall look elsewhere for my one true dinner companion.
Perhaps, someone in my field. This mythical dinner could be a fantastic opportunity to ask the kind of questions and make the connections that could really give me an edge in my impending job search, plus bag some swag that would make all my psychology-groupie professors swoon. Yes, indeed. I can use this chance as the power-play of a lifetime. And since the prompt specifies dead or alive, my options are virtually endless: Maslow? No, too needy...Cialdini? Nah. Control freak...Zimbardo? Um, no. If I want to have dinner with a sadist I don't need to waste magic wishes I can just use speed dial...Freud?...Okay this is just getting ridiculous! Note to self: if the Buddhists are correct, next time you get a human form, pick a college major where you can actually stand having dinner with the visionaries, like English.
Hey, that's not a bad idea. What about an author? There are several authors who I would love to pick the brains of. I am, however, forced to remember the results of my last encounter with one of such authors. During her last book tour, I was fortunate enough to be able to attend a reading and book signing by Jen Lancaster, who to my delight was taking the time to exchange a few words with all of us who were giddily waiting on line. Fantastic! I must come up with something ungodly witty and phenomenally interesting to say!...and you know what I told her...that having read the segment of Such a Pretty Fat where she tries yoga caused me to laugh for ten minutes straight when my yoga instructor had us kneel on either side of my own head. Let me repeat the critical points here...Jen Lancaster...need something witty...kneel on either side of my own head. Maybe I should stay away from having dinner with writers I respect...yeah...sounds like a plan. (Although in fairness, The Redneck Mommy does mention "bendiness" upon occasion...so maybe I would be allowed to have dinner with her.)
But having considered all those possibilities, the answer was right in front of me...who can forgive your utter dorkiness, do you have to be able to tolerate and takes you into their fold without making you
More specifically, Dahling's mother, who died three months after I was born. From what I hear she was an amazing woman with inner strength and attitude to trump 'em all. As far as what I would ask her, I'm pretty flexible on that. I think I would want to know what Dahling was like when she was growing up, but beyond that I would just like to have the chance to hear her piece.
...and from what I hear she was a hell of a cook too, which doesn't hurt, since this is a hypothetical, magical DINNER after all.