Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Inner Strength (04/20/06)
TITLE: Once Upon a Time There Were Three Little Girls Who Went to the Police Academy...
By Teri Wilson
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The television camera sweeps past a trio of snazzy sports cars hastily parked at the curb in front of Townsend Detective Agency and zooms in on a rectangular box in the center of Bosley’s desk.
“Good morning, angels,” squawks the box.
“Good morning, Charlie!” Three tanned, stunning women flash their Pepsodent grins as Farrah dramatically flips her frosted mane.
And so begins my favorite television show from my childhood, <i>Charlie’s Angels</i>. As a twelve year old girl planted firmly in the heart of the 70’s, the beautiful private detectives captured my attention like few other grown women had. Every Wednesday I watched, wide-eyed, as Jill, Kelly and Sabrina solved scandalous mysteries. Of course, while they were fighting bad guys the angels always remained perfectly coifed and elegantly well-dressed.
Charlie’s babes were everything I was not. While I had the scrawny, gangly frame of a pre-teen, they possessed womanly curves. My complexion was pale while the angels had smooth golden suntans (they were from Los Angeles, after all). And how could my stick-straight, dishwater hair ever compare with their glorious tresses?
My favorite angel was Jill Munroe, played by Farrah Fawcett (<i>Fawcett-Majors</i> back in the day). This was due, in no small part, to her hair. I'm all about the hair. My favorite angel was Jill, just like my favorite Friend is Rachel. But I digress…
Jill lived in a rockin’ beach house, could play tennis like a pro, do karate and drive a racecar. If you saw the skateboard episode, I’m sure you would agree that she could teach Tony Hawk a thing or two. I never saw any of the angels packing lunches, driving carpool or cleaning house like most of the real-life women I knew. They certainly never depended on a man for anything. They were independent, strong and glamorous. When I grew up, I was going to be just like them.
Last year for Christmas, my husband gave me an autographed photo of <i>Charlie’s Angels</i>. They stare down at me from the wall, dressed in their sparkly sequined evening gowns. I can’t even remember the last time I wore an evening gown. Come to think of it, have I <i>ever</i> worn an evening gown? I try to remember, but I’m so weary that I drift off to dream world.
A ringing telephone stirs me out of my slumber. I glance at the phone and notice it’s a rotary. Hmm, I haven’t seen one of those in a while.
“Good morning, angel.” The words come from a boxy speaker even larger than my son’s Nintendo Gamecube.
What in the world?
“Good morning. I have an assignment for you.”
“Who is this?” I’m just noticing that my middle-aged body seems suddenly slim. And what am I wearing? Is that a Bob Mackie?
“It’s your boss. I have urgent business for you to take care of, angel. Innocent people are in danger. You must fight the bad guys and stop them from their evil plans.”
“What? By myself? Where are Kelly and Sabrina? And where is my gun? I’ll need backup.” All the old lingo is coming back to me now.
“You have no need for weapons, angel.”
“But Charlie…” Okay, he’s really getting on my nerves. I don’t remember a single episode where an angel went out without backup.
“Why do you call me Charlie?”
“Aren’t you Charlie?” Now I’m starting to get a little freaked out.
“No, angel. This is God. I have urgent business to take care of on earth and you are the only person who can do it for me.”
“Um, God. What do you expect me to do? I’m just a housewife.” Did God ever speak to Moses through a speaker phone?
“Oh, angel. Strength does not come from designer clothes, fancy cars or even weapons. It comes from the power of Christ within you. You are strong every time you take care of a sick child or teach your family about me. No one does more work for my Kingdom than mothers. More often than not, strength wears a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers.”
I hear another voice calling from the distance, “Mommeeee.”
I jump up with a start. What a weird dream. As I run to scoop up my sleepy child I look up at Farrah and she winks at me from the silver frame.
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