Clara was struggling to get her pants on this morning. Midway through she fell over and sat for a few embarrassing seconds in a tripod position with her forehead on the floor, hands still tugging on her pants. She was a strange monument of ridiculousness and I was forced to stop what I was doing and sit, hands folded in my lap, and respectfully watch this rare moment of performance art. Her triangular body attempted to jump into the air several times. She flapped her legs like a frantic bird as rocked forward on her face. Finally, she gave up and let herself slowly slide down to her belly. She sighed deeply into the carpet and stared blankly across the room at me. I smiled back at her. Her mouth hung loose in exhausted defeat.

“I wish there was another one me.” She said after a few moments.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean, I wish there were two of me. You know, two of the same Claras. Then one of me could watch while I got dressed in the morning. I wouldn’t have to look in a mirror, because the other me could be there to watch, and I would know what I looked like.”

“Huh,” I nodded, “That’s an interesting idea. But I think other you wouldn’t appreciate having to watch some little weirdo get dressed every morning. Don’t you think?”

She shrugged into the floor, “I think it would be better than this,” she said. And she made a good point. As she said this, she rolled over onto her back and began worming her way into her pants again. I watched as she slowly inched herself across the room moving towards the kitchen until she was out of sight.

For all I know she is still going. Somewhere in Canada by now. A little girl on her back, with her pants around her hips, undulating her way across the barren tundra, through bustling cities, down highways, over rocky hills, into the sunset, and beyond. Dreaming of new horizons of humanity. A future where we can clone our own retinue of butlers and maids, identical to ourselves, who can help us pull our pants on in the morning.