Book Club

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Callie Hyde Part 1

Have you ever noticed that fate has a funny way of disguising life's best moments as its most horrifying? I wouldn't fault you if you didn't. It's not something one tends to give a lot of thought to. At least, not until life gives you reason to.

In that way, it's kind of like backing up an important project on your computer. You could go years without that ever crossing your mind and then the split second a major power outage hits and your computer screen goes dark, your first thought is not, 'I wonder what caused this blackout' or 'Am I in any dangers from potential looters?' No, your first thought is 'Why didn't I save a backup copy?"

So, what was my computer backup moment? Let me paint a picture for you.

I want you to picture a young woman who could be described as shy, introverted, knocking-on-the-door-of-pretty, and a bit nerdish without falling into full-fledged weirdo territory. She's worn glasses her whole life and likes to think she rocks the sexy librarian look. Of course, it should be noted that in high school, she was voted most likely to die alone in her apartment with eight cats.

Think you have a fairly solid image of this young woman?

Now picture her lying on a hardwood floor, dressed only in her underwear, barely able to hold a half-full glass of red wine upright. After spilling the drink, she promptly and enthusiastically licks the wine off the floor.

Pretty pathetic, huh?

Well, as you've probably guessed by now, this woman is me. But what may surprise you is, this horrifying and unquestionably unsanitary moment would prove to be key in changing my life for the better.

You see, this person I just described, it's not me. I mean, it's me, but not really me. I'm getting ahead of myself. Allow me to explain.

The real version of me begins each weekday the exact same way. I wake up at 6:30 a.m. and immediately check my cell phone for important messages from people who may have been desperate to reach me overnight. Then I exhale in disappointment upon discovering nobody has been desperate to make contact with me. Despite the fact I have yet to receive an emergency message, I still make this the starting point of every day.

Then I will shower and, wearing only a bath towel wrapped around me, sit and apply makeup. This part of the day doesn't take me long. I'm under no delusions I'm off to shoot a cover spread for Vanity Fair. I apply just enough makeup to keep me from looking like a dishrag. With that bar cleared, I select a modest outfit for the day.

I've never been a...what's the word people use? Fashionista, that's it. I don't select clothes to make me stand out. In actual fact, I try to wear outfits that won't draw attention to myself. I like to fall right in the sweet fat middle of that fashion bell curve. I don't want to be rewarded for a bold and daring fashion choice or mocked for wearing something silly or inappropriate.

Dressing appropriately is a very big deal where I work. I suppose this is where I should tell you a little bit about myself. My name is Callie Morrison and I'm 24 years old. My father is Scottish, and my mother is a Filipina although I've spent my entire life in Toronto. I'm probably the only person in the country who celebrates both Bataan Day and Robbie Burns Day like a champ. And for the record, Haggis is not as bad as everyone makes it out to be.

By day, I'm a paralegal at the law firm of Lavigne Nelson Kiley Moore. What's it like being a paralegal? That's one of life's never-asked questions. Kind of like, 'Does anyone feel like going out for Norwegian?'

The textbook definition of a paralegal is 'someone who performs substantive and procedural legal work as authorized by law, which work, in the absence of the paralegal, would be performed by an attorney.' Sounds thrilling, right? Well, it's even more boring than it sounds.