Didn't See Me Coming...

History is a funny thing. We look back at it with a present-day bias, full of modern-day morals and ideas.

"I totally would have..." fill in the blanks is so easy to say. But really, looking at who you are, what your strengths and weaknesses are, who would you have been at some other point in history? What would you have done? What would you have been?

Would you have made a mark or faded into obscurity?

I'm not an obscurity kind of gal. I don't plan to leave this life in obscurity. I sure wouldn't have done so in a past life.

I have certain skills. I'm smart. No seriously, I'm really smart. I'm great with languages and logic and stuff. It's not like they just handed me that law degree.

I'm also a very astute student of human behaviour. I know people. I know what they do. I understand their motivations. I see them coming before they see their own selves.

Oh, and PS, back in the day, I was pretty cute.

My past life begins in 1922. My name is Gerta, the 7th child and 3rd daughter of Magda and Harry Jensen. Harry is a West-African descendant of former slaves. Magda is German.

I'm a wilful and bright child, with big blue eyes, milky white skin, and sandy flowing waves. I love art and literature and beg to study in Vienna.

At 15, I move to fulfill my dreams. It's 1937. I do well and eventually move to Berlin.

I'm uncommonly beautiful, with my African hips and full bottom, tiny waist, and doll-like face.

British intelligence approaches me. I'm not interested.

But things start getting scary. People are being moved. My friend Edith, a nice Jewish girl from a good family, disappears. First, the government made her and her family wear stars. Her father was fired from the university. They were moved to the edge of town.

The last time I saw Edith, she said they were under orders to surrender their 2 cats, Ruth and Samuel. She sobbed so hard. Her shoulders were fallen as if she'd been resigned to this way of living - to any and all of her basic rights being ripped from her.

I was not.

I had no way to contact the British intelligence officers that had once approached me. But I had to do something.

Two years passed. I was working as both a writer and actress for the Nazi party. We were at war with the world.

One day, 2 men approached me outside my home. They were young and handsome, both dressed as SS officers, but they spoke English to me.

"Gerta Jensen," one whispered, "Please come with us." He grabbed my arm.

I pulled away. "No, Heil Hitler!"

"We mean no harm," the other one, the one with the sharp blue eyes said, "We just wish to speak, please."

There was something in his voice, a desperation. I nodded.

And I was given my orders.

It wasn't difficult to catch his eye. The Fuhrer was well known to enjoy actresses. I was invited to many private dinners.

It was disgusting, the things I had to do. The way I had to act. This little man, foul-breathed, buggy-eyed, and almost toothless. He stood in front of me, many nights, expectant, full of his own importance. He was more impressed with himself than he ever was me.

The perfect Aryan, that's what he called me. My long, slender limbs, blue eyes, womanly curves, and delicate features. I was the perfect embodiment of German strength and femininity.

That evening in June, at The Kehlsteinhaus, he waved his hand, and the other 3 women were escorted out. All beautiful. All very bright. And I remained.

We continued to dine. He with boiled potatoes, onions, and broccoli. I with the same, posing as a vegetarian. I did, however, have a small glass of wine. There are only so many sacrifices a girl can make and I told Col. Peabody that I'd need wine for the mission.

Adoph, Wolf, as I called him, didn't seem to mind. We discussed art at length and he invited me to his suite to see some of his drawings.

This was all in the brief. Oh, the drivel of it all. Flat, lifeless, a talentless hack. I praised his lines and shadows. I told him how impressive his form was, especially when it came to landscapes. I almost gagged on my words.

He stepped toward me, smirking, his rotting teeth exposed, or what was left of them.

I moved in closer, trying desperately to ignore the stench and allowed him to embrace me. I reached down, pulling myself toward him, as if I were excited by his non-existent manliness and pulled it out.

The syringe of poison. And I jabbed it into his neck. He flinched and glared at me. He muttered something about how I had no idea who I was dealing with before he keeled over.

I smiled. He had no idea who he was dealing with. Liked that full African booty, didn't ya? Stupid, stupid, little man. Oh, did I mention my Jewish ancestry? No? Haha! Men! So easy.

That would have been my job in a past life, a femme fatale who averted wars and other calamities by using my assets against egomaniacal warmongering dictators.

As my Mama always told me, "You have a duty to use the gifts you're given to their utmost ability."