It’s happened.  Just like Alice chased the White Rabbit down that whimsical rabbit hole in Lewis Carroll’s acclaimed story, I have done the same thing . . . not by choice, you see, but by circumstance.  If you’ve ever experienced a rabbit hole yourself, you know how mind-boggling, emotionally confounding and categorically life-changing they can be.  I haven’t actually experienced REAL Mad Hatters, Queens of Hearts or Chesire cats, but the cast of characters in my life equal Alice’s measure for measure.  

Now that I think of it, maybe I’ve been living ‘down the rabbit hole’ my whole life!  I didn’t drop down one as Alice did.  I’ve been here!  What I’ve always considered normal and usual has been anything but that!  Many of my parochial school teachers would have frightened the crown off the tyrannical Queen of Hearts.  “You forGOT your homework, child?  OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”  I have been employed by many Mad Hatters, lost in their own confusion and barking nonsensical orders, expecting rational results.  Tweedledee, Tweedledum and the White Rabbit have also been colorfully represented in my life and I’ve loved them all, but it wasn’t until just the other day that I realized I could really use Alice’s hookah-smoking caterpillar to help me out.  

I stand at 5 feet, 6 inches . . . Not too tall, not too short.  Clothes fit me without having to alter the length or width.  Doctors have never been concerned with the rate of my growth nor the number on the scale.  My statistics fall within the normal range for a modern-day Caucasian woman.  Why then do many of my friends and acquaintances remark about my exceptional height?  It hit me hard when the inbox on my tablet announced a new message . . . a group photo of me standing with three friends.  I gasped.  “They’re right!  I AM tall!  I’m towering over them like one of the Goons in the Popeye cartoons!”  A second look at the picture confirmed my first impression.  I am indeed too tall!  

Mirrors in my house lie to me daily.  My reflection depicts a well-proportioned image.  Could it be that my mirrors are really circus mirrors . . . diminishing my stature by a foot or two?  That must be the case . . . The picture of me with my friends does not match what my mirror shows.  It sure is scary down here at the bottom of the rabbit hole!

If only I could bring real life to the lyrics of Jefferson Airplane’s White Rabbit, I would be home free:  “ . . . Go ask Alice when she’s ten-feet tall.  Tell ‘em a hookah-smokin’ caterpillar has given you the call!”  

Well, I’m calling!!!!  HEY CATERPILLAR!!!!