I have to admit it.

As much as I would love to say glibly and gleefully that I would fit perfectly into the 19th century, I have to admit there are certain things I would be hard-pressed to deal with.

1. Getting up early.

NOT a fan. Never have been. Never will be. Do not like. Ugh.

2. Being cold.

I can stand Rochester winters, as long as I have my down coat and warm gloves and lined boots and silky long underwear and.....well, you get my point. I'm not sure I'd have as much success surviving winter if all I had was scratchy wool underwear, quilted petticoats, and a wool cape. Yucky.

3. Being hot.

Having to wear lots of layers during a summer re-enactment has taught me that I am not the best at surviving sticky heat. At least, not without lots of drama and whining.

4. Being in shape to perform lots of hard farmwork and other types of physical labor.

As we all know, the last time I was in shape was....well...let me think.....probably before I was born. Or maybe for a few moments directly afterward. Shoveling a large load of leaf mulch and dirt onto the garden several days ago was enough to tell me that if I had to make a journey into the 19th century right now, as I am, I would probably die within a week. Possibly 10 days.

5. Eating spoiled food.

Lots of people in the 19th century ate spoiled food, especially meat, and disguised the taste with spices. Apparently I was born with an extremely sensitive stomach...if food is within a week of its "Use By" date, I usually become violently ill around 2 a.m. the morning after consuming it (or even coming within three feet of it).

If we're talking about dressing the part, canning and preserving food, learning how to do old-time handicrafts, or any number of other things appropriate for a 19th century lady, I could definitely handle it. Cooking over the fire during Civil War re-enactments is my specialty (notice I did not say that I am proficient at doing this, only that I enjoy doing it).

However, these five things, and probably a good number of other things I haven't thought of yet, would most likely prohibit my hopping into an as-yet-uninvented time machine and making a permanent home in the 19th century. Boo. Sadness.

Perhaps I will one day cure myself of my laziness and affinity for soft living, but I doubt it. Until then, thank God for 19th century weekends that end on Sunday night and allow a temporary return to the 21st century. :)