IF I were a skeleton I wouldn’t be able to drink either water or juice, for

everything would leak out and wet the whole house.

That aside I would wake up and leap out of bed, happy as a bird

Being a real skull must be a lot of fun

One example. Pretend that a bank is being robbed. Those evil, disgusting bad

guys, armed to the teeth, shouting:

“Nobody move! Where’s the money?”

Were I a skeleton I would enter the bank and shout: boo!

Just one boo, a simple boo and all those bad guys would fall to the floor and wet their trousers with terror. (Could be: wet themselves)

The manager and the clients of the bank would thank me and even hug me just a little, but I am sure of that.

If I were a skeleton I would maybe be considered a great hero.

Not to mention that a skeleton walking down the street in broad daylight would make a big mess. People running they knew not where, sirens screaming, people praying that had never before prayed, the army retreating, great crowds desperate and I there, happy as a lark, whistling on the sidewalk.

Some television reporter, holding his microphone, could even come up to

interview me:

“Who are you?”

And I :

“I am a skeleton”

The reporter:

“Did you escape from the cemetery?

At this point I would pretend to be deaf:

“Be a mystery?”

And the reporter again, louder this time:

“Did you run away from the cemetery”

“Become merry ”?

“Cemetery!”

So the reporter would lose his cool:

“Are you deaf?”

And I :

“Of course I am! Can’t you see that I don’t even have ears?”

If I were a skeleton I be maybe taken to the biology class of some school. I can imagine myself there, standing still, and the teacher trying to explain me, bone by bone, tooth by tooth, saying that the skeletons are a sort of structure that holds up our flesh, organs, nerves and muscles.

I can think of the questions and remarks of the students:

“What was his name?”

“Is he male or female?”

“How old is he?”

“Is or was?

“Kind of lean, isn’t he?”

“Could this guy read or was he illiterate?”

“What about his family?”

“Was he rich or poor?”

“What’s the poor thing laughing at?”

And more:

“Teacher, was he bald?”

And all the while I would be there, in the middle of the room, with my skull face, saying nothing so as not to scare the students and give the teacher a heart attack.

One thing is for sure. To be a skeleton must be a very good thing coming carnival time. You don’t even have to wear a costume. You can leave home without worries, give yourself to the samba, become a merry-maker and go dancing down the street, playing and shaking your bones. It may sound like a lie, but it is in carnival, where nothing is serious, that we end up being the way we really are.

Were I a skeleton, come carnival, I would go out singing:

And when I die

I want no candle and no cry

I want a yellow ribbon

With her name written on

As everybody knows a dog is a man’s best friend

What most people do not know, and modern science has forgotten to research, is that it is the skeleton’s worst enemy, that it barks, bites, wags its tail, carries fleas and likes to pee on lamp posts.

What if I were a skeleton and by chance some mongrel saw me in the street and ran after me, and ran away with some bone of mine?