Sometimes I have these really weird ideas just pop into my mind. Poof, and there they are. Take today for example. There I was peddling frantically around the neighbor in attempt to get in at least an hour on my Huffy before the ominous-looking clouds that were churning above decided to release a downpour of Biblical portions upon my head when, poof, this thought came to me.

“So,” you ask, “what was this thought?” Well, it was this: I thought, What if the sky were to open and God (who resembles Morgan Freeman in my mind’s eye and did long before the movie Evan Almighty) looked down upon me, tilted His head, and said in His melodic voice, “Carol, for the rest of your life you can only eat three foods, so tell me, what will they be?”

Peddling up the hill on Brigante and making a right onto Thomas Nolan, I pondered God’s question. Only three foods for the rest of my life, now that was a hard decision to make. The dilemma, of course, which I immediately recognized, was that I would need to choose healthy foods in order to survive; yet, on the other hand, those foods would need to be something I enjoyed or else I would soon tire of eating them, wouldn’t I?

Waving at a neighbor, Margaret, who was walking her overweight dachshund, I continued on to where Thomas Nolan dead-ends, at which point I made a sharp left in order to head back up the street. That’s when my first choice occurred to me. Pizza! But not just any pizza. I would choose supreme with, of course, hand-tossed crust. Why? Well, because, one, I love pizza; and, two, it’s one of nature’s perfect foods. After all, pizza contains several choices from the daily food pyramid, right? It contains bread, meat, vegetables, and cheese. Voila! Choice number one was made.

The wind had picked up, and immediately ahead a tree limb crashed to the pavement. I veered to the right, maneuvering my bike around it. Okay, I thought, now for choice number two. Hmm, what will it be?

As I approached the intersection with Majestic, I threw up one hand at another neighbor, Debbie, who had obviously just returned home from her housecleaning business, since she was unloading supplies from the back of her vehicle. I could tell she wanted me to stop and chat (Debbie really likes to chat), but I pointed at the darkening sky, mouthed, “Gotta beat this storm home,” and picked up my pace. In fact, by now I was going so fast, I almost lost control of the bike as I rounded the curve. Wobbling and almost running off the street, I yet somehow avoided a spill, and there it was—my second choice staring me in the face. Chocolate-covered raisins. Yes, I thought, chocolate-covered raisins. I was, after all, a chocoholic, wasn’t I? And if I chose chocolate-covered raisins, I would not only get my daily chocolate fix, I would also have a serving of fruit. So, chocolate-covered raisins it would be.

I glanced up to see if God was paying me any mind, and that was when I saw a bright, white-hot bolt of lightning zing to the earth. It looked pretty darn close. I began to peddle even harder. Okay, I thought, now for my third and final choice. Decisions, decisions.

Making a left off Majestic onto Mosser, I zipped past the home of the retired Army Colonel, who was outside glaring up at the sky like he was daring it to dump rain on his shiny white Lincoln. Mainly just to irritate him, I shouted, “Looks like rain,” and sped on down Mosser toward Gordon Crocket, which is the street where I live.

Okay, I thought, my final choice deserves some extra thought. After all, I did not want to make a hasty decision, especially since I was going to limit myself to these three foods for the rest of my days.

The first fat raindrops splattered the dusty street as I peddled past the home of the neighbors with the huge chow they walked twice a day and allowed to poop in everyone’s yard, including mine. I glimpsed the chow. It was on the front porch and eyeballing me through the slats of the gate like it would like nothing better than to take several big chunks out of both me and my bike with its sharp teeth. “Quit pooping in my yard,” I shouted and sailed on past.

Darn, I thought, what’s my third and final choice?

I reached my house and careened into the driveway. Across the street, another neighbor, Marshall, had obviously been trimming hedges and was piling limbs beside the street. He glanced at me, smiled, and yelled, “Looks like you beat the rain. Wanna beer?”

Ah, ha, I thought. That’s it. Well, not beer, but close. For my third and final choice I would take wine. Why? Well, because wine is good for you, isn’t it? It provides antioxidants, and all the latest research says it promotes a healthy heart. On top of that, wine is made from grapes, so it counts as another fruit. And, yes, it counts as a food, mainly because I say it does.

Getting off my Huffy, I rolled it toward the garage and glanced up at the sky. For a moment, there and then gone, I thought I saw Morgan Freeman smiling down at me from the dark roiling clouds like maybe, just maybe, he approved of my choices. Then again, maybe the wine I had drunk for breakfast was making me see things.