It will happen for us, I know it will. Maybe six will be my lucky number.

Anyway. The workshop was a series of presentations in which various librarians would jump around like lunatics - many in costume as aliens - and demonstrate various songs, crafts, and stories suited to the space theme. (I have to warn you: while, at first, anyone of sane mind was a bit put-off and disturbed by the manic antics, this particular lunacy was catching. But I'll get to that in a moment.)

I and the part-time youth librarian, Kathy, got to the library in Bryan bright and early, got out doughnuts and juice, and found a seat. I was still waking up, and when I first heard the high-pitched noises, I thought I was still dreaming. Loodle-loodle-loodle-loodle! The second time I heard them, they were louder, longer, and distinctly more annoying. The librarian to my left rolled her eyes toward them and said, "Aliens." I nodded and took deep swallow of my juice. A giant lion and a space alien came out of the elevator and began prancing before the crowd. The day loomed endlessly before me.

A sad attempt at comedy came from a woman dressed in a white lab coat, a fuzzy black wig, and a set of antennae. She did a few science experiments, then gave the stage over to...oh, God. Is that an autoharp?! This librarian, gifted with far too much energy than would be healthy for anybody, regaled us with songs about meteors and planets. At first my head spun and my ears tried to detach themselves from my head in the hope of salvation, but after the first fifteen minutes, I began to sink into a comfortable apathy. So what if she can't sing? I'm getting paid to sit here and listen to her try! And not all of it is so bad, really...

And before I knew it, I was standing with a group of women at the front of the room, whacking away on a tin drum with a rubber mallet to the tune of "The 'Moon Rock' Rock." I'll consider it temporary insanity if you will.

In fact, my loss of good sense had me in such a pleasant frame of mind that when the coordinators sent us downstairs for arts and crafts, I hurried to be one of the first ones there. Oh, boy! Beaded aliens! I made two. Homemade Chia-spacemen? Lemme at 'em! And the Ellison machines with all the space-themed dies...drool... When we went back upstairs, I was heavily laden with the fruits of my efforts and far gone into my own hysteria. When the coordinator asked for volunteers for an undisclosed venture, I happily raised my hand and went where she directed.

I began to awaken from my mental vacation when confronted with a box of dress-up clothes, jewelry, and a pile of paper sashes labeled, "Miss Pulsar," "Miss Comet," "Miss Asteroid." I was to be "Miss Cluster." Before I could say much of anything in the way of protest, I found myself holding a veil, a beribboned halo, two different colors of leg warmers, a long gold necklace, and an old choker.

"Dress up pretty!" the women giggled. One woman was putting cones in the front of her blouse, a la early-eighties Madonna. Another had on a long yellow wig and a pink-flowered miniskirt over her slacks. I sighed. Put the veil over my head and secured it with the halo. Strapped on the choker, slipped the leg warmers up my arms, and draped the necklace over my wrists. I was as game as the next clinically insane librarian.

We minced out into the crowd, and the ladies whooped. Cameras flashed. The lion, back for an encore performance, picked "Miss Pulsar," the one with the cones in her shirt, to be "Miss Galaxy." I heard somebody say something about "pictures" and "webpage," and I shuddered. Retreat! But not before posing for individual portraits. I stood helpless and mute before the camera. It was my own fault for volunteering, so I get to live with the consequences, I guess.

The rest of the workshop passed pretty quickly. Lunch was a cheese sandwich due to the coordinators' neglect to consider the need for any non-red meat entrees. I won a book for a door prize, and received a booklet of stickers for my participation in the beauty contest. Lucky me!

My mind is back, now, and I shudder at the things the body did in its absence. Dignity has been lost. How to regain it? Is it even possible?