So I just took an online quiz to determine who I was in a past life. Well, imagine my surprise. Not only was I someone in a past life; I was someone pretty darned important. I was Queen Elizabeth I. Truly, that explains a lot. It explains why I hate binding clothing, high necklines and heavy jewelry. Also, I am unusually pale, and when I am sad people sometimes ask, Why the long face? I have an abnormal affinity for that HBO series, The Tudors. Also, my brothers used to tell me I was illegitimate. But while I am not certain about much when it comes to past lives or the afterlife, I am certain of one thing: I was not Queen Elizabeth I. I’m just not that diplomatic, and I have bad posture.
How is it that everybody was someone famous in a past life? People are always Cleopatra or James Dean, and oddly enough, they seem genuinely thrilled to find out they were a tragic figure. Who cares that my tortured life ended in a tragic O.D./suicide? I was Judy freaking Garland! Just once I’d love someone to tell me they were Julie Adams of Sandusky, Ohio, a bipolar housewife with an unfaithful steelworker husband, two C-minus kids and a mild drinking problem. That, I’d believe.
I found another Web site that, based solely on my date of birth, could tell that I was a female seaman in northern New Zealand around 1,000 A.D. While it does seem plausible in the sense that all that demanding manual labor and volatile climate would certainly prepare me to rule England in another 400 years, some other stuff does not add up. For example, was every person born on my birthday a female Maori seaman? That must have been a strange fleet.
Now please understand I am not mocking the idea of having a past life. When Whiny was a baby he told me he liked Iraq because it was hot and sandy (cue the creepy music). Hindus and other cultures have believed in past lives and reincarnation since hundreds of years before the birth of Christ. I am, rather, mocking the TV psychic who goes on Maury and tells some gal she has a fear of the dark because she was an English royal imprisoned by Henry VIII. Maybe she’s afraid of the dark because the dark is scary. The next guy doesn’t understand why he has a fear of fire. Maybe he was Joan of Arc, but frankly I wouldn’t understand someone who didn’t have a fear of fire. Did you not see Backdraft?
So, I am fairly confident I was not Elizabeth I, despite my affinity for Shakespeare. There is just no way I could hold down the same job for 44 years. So who was I? I do have a fear of cleaning the kitchen, vacuuming and laundry. I like cocktails and junk food and road trips and watching sports on TV. Well, whoever I was, it’s clear I must have been president of my fraternity.