The nose had been a mistake. She could see that now. After all, one nose is very much like another. How could she have thought that changing her nose would render her unrecognizable? It was simply unrealistic.
Lacking a proper disguise, she decided she would just have to face life as a respectable middle-aged woman and shed her wild fantasies of borderline criminal activity. She'd held it together this long. What was another forty years? She could survive, baking with whole wheat flour, drinking decaf, and putting skim milk in her coffee. No one had died of respectability yet ... Had they???
Days passed. She rose each morning, took her vitamin, went to work, did her job, and came straight home. She read Prevention magazine and went to bed early. She was fine. Really.
Then one morning she woke up screaming, "I'm an espresso woman in a green tea world!"
Her inner maniac was oozing out at her seams. It could not be contained. It was time to try again.
A false nose hadn't worked, but she knew what would. It had come to her in the night, whispered itself in her dreams. What she needed was: A mole.
A mole's power cannot be overstated. Take Marilyn Monroe, for example. When her mole moved from her cheek to her temple, she was quite a different woman! Yes, a mole was just the thing.
The next morning when her alarm went off she hit snooze four times instead of the usual three. When she finally got up, she showered extra fast and threw on her clothes. Then she stood before the mirror and contemplated.
She contemplated long and hard because the placement of a mole -- especially with a permanent marker -- was not to be taken lightly. After much deliberation, she settled upon the left cheekbone, just an inch below the eye. This spot was perfect in its conspicuousness. She opened and closed her eyes several times, making sure that the "mole" was the first thing she saw each time she looked at her reflection. It was.
With a spring in her step, she headed out the door to meet the day. Her first act as a new woman would be to break a rule she had never yet broken in all her forty years of life. Like cigarettes form a seemingly harmless gateway to other drugs, this act of defiance would open the floodgates to all sorts of lawless activity. She was sure of it.
She pulled into the library parking lot at a reckless speed and parked crookedly in the spot nearest the door. She scooped up her DVDs from the front seat and stepped out of the minivan. She walked boldly to the large metal "Book Return Drop" receptacle and pulled on its handle. It opened like a gaping mouth, the metal door hanging from its hinges like a jaw dropped in astonishment. She paused to re-read the same red sticker she'd read a thousand times before:
"Do not place videos in book return drop."
Then, with a flourish, she tossed the videos down the metal throat and slammed the trap door shut. She'd done it! She was right! The mole was powerful, and she was free!
Or WAS she???