Just let me know.

I'm ready. I'm willing. I'm able.
I'll be so many people for you.

I'll be Sally Ride with brunette helmet hair, doing somersalts in zero gravity. It's 1983 and I'm the first woman in Space. Don't give me flowers. I don't need makeup or designer shoes. All I need is a crisp blue jumpsuit and my space shuttle. That's all I care about.
You'll ask, "How can you be so earthy and yet other worldly? How can you be so fearless? Aren't you scared?"
"I'm not scared, she's a good ship," I'll say, "She's takes me to outerspace."

I'll be Sarah Ferguson getting married in 1986. I haven't eaten anything for days so I could squeeze into this damn wedding dress. I'll hold your hand really tight while we wave from the balcony. My hand will so be cold and sweaty, yours will be so strong and stupid. For a second I have a strong urge to start throwing shit over the balcony- big ceramic pots and priceless pieces of art. Just to freak everyone out. Strip out of my wedding dress and throw it over and watch everyone tear it to pieces.

I'll be Bill Cosby writing a book of easily digestable humor in my study, smoking a cigar. It will come so easy to me. I won't be able to stop the flow of bestselling wit and wisdom pouring out of me. I'll get a little high from it. You'll be Camilla. By the time you come in and tell me it's time for bed, I'll be so turned on by myself that I'll want to make love to you on my oversized desk. But, like you said it is time for bed.