Friday, June 19, 2015

Invasion of the Body [Parts] Snatchers

It was the first hot and sunny Saturday, and I was a free woman.  The Kiddo and her daddy were off doing something fun, and I headed downtown for tea and a massive slab of gluten free cake with a friend.  And to top it all off, I was wearing my new shorts.  My new, favorite, perfect fit, so comfortable, just the right length shorts.  And my new gray imitation Chucks.  I was feeling free and relaxed and totally put together.  So imagine my shock as I stood waiting for my friend in front of a glass door when I saw someone else's legs attached to my body's reflection.  Yes, that's right, just underneath those super cool khakis were two very familiar legs.  Familiar, yes. Mine? Not so much.  Just below those transplanted legs?  Two similarly recognizable feet.  Also not mine.

You know those spinny things they have on kids' playground and on those expensive wooden toys like they have at doctor's offices?  The ones where you can create a person/animal/monster by turning the pieces to different heads, legs, and torsos?  Mix and match!  It's an alligator head with a flamingo middle, and don't forget the duck feet!  Well, turns out I'm a walking, talking version of one of those toys.  See the amazing woman walking around on her MOTHER'S LEGS AND FEET!

I am not exaggerating.  The face and body looked like me (though, who knows who will appear as the years go by), but the legs were definitely exact replicas of my mom's (well, to be fair, they were significantly smaller, mom has five inches on me).  The way the high arches force the laces wide at the top, that slope that results from wedging an arched foot into a flat shoe.  This was beyond eerie.  What about my poor mother?  How was she getting around without her lower half?  For years, I'd seen those knees and ankles on somebody else, not in my own reflection.

Don't misunderstand me.  There is nothing wrong with my mom's legs. They're lovely.  It was just disconcerting to suddenly find them at the end of my own body.  Which leaves me wondering which body parts will morph next?  Because of a procedure I had done in my teens, my nose will forever be mine, but what about my chin?  My hands (admittedly, already quite a bit like my mom's, though not as exactly the same as the legs)?  Will a grandmother's forehead or grandfather's neck soon appear in the mirror?  I feel like a ticking time bomb of features.  What about Lucy Addison?  I find myself watching her closely, looking for emerging similarities, body parts she will steal in 30+ years, leaving me limbless or worse.

Seriously, though.  It was a strange moment, seeing a part of me looking exactly like I remember my mother looking when I was small, and I walked a bit more carefully as I wandered around downtown, hoping to take care of my mother's feet.

The legs in question.

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