This fantasy usually takes place in the Fall, and I'm wearing a jewel-toned scarf and brand-new lipstick. My look, of course, complete with a fancy coffee in my non-sign-holding hand and the latest in lace-up boots on my two feet. (Did I mention I'm also humming a tune I seem to vaguely remember from early childhood? "Who can turn the world on with her smile...")
And right after Mr. Roker says, "Temps sure did drop last night, giving us this beautiful, crisp New York morning," he turns around and asks me something like, "Whereabouts are you from?" Or "Who are you with today?" (More like, "Who did you drag here today?" if my husband came with me. Not a Today Show kind of guy.)
But here is where my fantasy comes to an abrupt halt, for I cannot imagine myself saying a single thing interesting or witty or charming. Sure I'd give an overly-excited, "That'd be Orange County, California, Al!" sort of reply. But how would I jazz it up? I'm not very good on-the-spot. Funny takes time.
It all began in the sixth grade. A radio station promised the 106th caller tickets to see The Jets in concert at Magic Mountain. So I called in. My cousin got a blank cassette ready and was prepared to push "record" if I got through. Sure enough, I got through. And it got recorded.
Hearing it back, I remember not liking the way I responded to the DJ's comments and questions and innuendoes: "Hi. What? Huh? No. Way. This is Molly. Really? Really? Um. Um. Wow. Neato. Neato. Neato."
I sounded very eleven, you see. But why shouldn't I have? I was eleven. Problem is, almost 30 years later, I fear Al Roker would also get an eleven-year-old version of me.
Or is it possible that age has nothing to do it? Maybe that's just the way I am under pressure? So what if on-the-spot Molly isn't all that funny. And who cares if it takes me 17 minutes after-the-fact to come up with something clever. I'll just save it for a blog, and call it a day.
Besides, since when is being funny a requirement when answering Al Roker's questions? Whose approval am I living for, anyway?
I heard it said that self-esteem is based upon what you think the most important person in your life thinks about you. And since I shouldn't give Al Roker and the entire United States of America the privilege of being M.I.P. in my life, it'd be much easier if I daily made Jesus that person, for his Word says I am lovable (John 3:16), capable (2 Peter 1:3), valuable (Luke 12:6), forgivable (Psalm 103:12), and usable (Ephesians 4:12).
So although my Today-Show-street-crowd dreams remain the same, I might as well move forward in the fantasy - heading straight through Al Roker's interview and right into the studio itself, where I'm then asked to replace the replacements for Katie Couric. (Where was I? Oh yes, "Your gonna make it after all!")