I wish I were a racehorse.

Or more specifically, a racehorse like Barbaro, winner of this year's Kentucky Derby who sadly broke down in the Preakness (two of the only horse races that most Americans tune into).

Maybe in my next life:


I'll be born to world-class sprinters, soon to be running before even being potty-trained. I'll have a team of trainers and sponsors who will have me practice running around the track on my little baby legs and feed me protein and scream, "Run, NP, RUN!" and such so that I grow into a strong, lean running machine. Soon enough, I will be running like the devil is after me and breaking records. I'll be running every freaking day, whether I like it or not. People will place bets on me, and I'll make them proud. (And rich). Hype will build up around me like snow.

At the tender age of 15, I'll enter the Olympics. I'll fly away from my competitors early in the race, but then 50 yards or so in, I'll fracture my leg horrifically. Although I'll heroically try running on my broken leg, my leg will eventually fail and and I will collapse, exhausted, in the middle of the track.

OH NO!

My trainers and sponsers will immediately run to my side, huddle, and briefly ponder whether it's worth keeping me alive (perhaps they should just inject me with some poison right there on the track??). Fortunately, my pretty face, speed, and the fact that I can potentially pass my hot looks along for LOTS of money will win them over. Oh, and did I mention that I still look damned sexy even with this broken leg?

Immediately, I'll be whisked off to a world-class hospital for an eight-hour operation to save my leg. Not enough to ever run again, mind you, but to at least be able to perform... um, extracirricular activities. Strangers from all over the country will pray for me, write songs about me, and even CRY over me. After my operation, newspapers will report (over politics and poverty, of course):
"NP's surgery was cautiously successful, but the good news is she's shown interest in a group of boys who were brought over to do little stripteases for her! She's still got moxie! Hallelujah!! "

I'll retire to Malibu Beach at the age of 16. I'll eat green apples all day, bask in the sunshine, have my pick of boyfriends, and pop out adorable mini-NPs. My trainers will grow fat and happy on the money that will come flowing in with each new boyfriend. My many children will frolick around me, and soon enough they too will be saddled up as pre-teens to run in races in front of screaming women in large hats and waving handkerchiefs. At my rate, I'll be going into labor at least twice a year, but I suppose the pain will be eased by the fact that I'll be treated to bubble baths every day, receive massive amounts of money, cared for by world-class doctors who will ensure that I live until to at least 100 years old, and- most importantly- have LOTS and LOTS of great se....... uh, secretaries. ;)



Disclaimer: I actually do love horses. They are beautiful, powerful animals. Like many little girls, I bought a calendar of unicorns, and even made my parents take me on a 1-hour horseriding trip for my 13th birthday. I just don't love horseracing.