By JANE LOTTER

I have looked at the map and, as far as I can tell, the projected route (aka "Possible Future Corridor") for the proposed Seattle monorail runs straight through our home's master bedroom. It fact, it cuts smack dab through our entire house, sort of the way the monorail at the Seattle Center slices through Experience Music Project.

I have consulted my attorneys - Bothered and Bewildered - and they tell me that, legally, we're up the creek without a paddle. However, I support the monorail and no matter what happens I endorse its construction. One way or another, once the monorail is built, even if it travels through our upstairs bath, we'll deal with it.

"Honey, the 12:50 to Lake City is due any minute," I imagine myself saying to my husband Bob. "Better put a shirt on."

After all, having the monorail pass directly through one's home does offer certain advantages. I see myself returning via monorail from a day of running highly important errands. I sit up front with my packages, next to the driver. "This is my stop," I observe.

"You want off here?"

"Well, yes," I respond. "But you misunderstand. This is MY stop. It belongs to me. There's the living room and in a moment we'll be in the kitchen." A thought occurs to me. "Why don't you take a break and come in for a cup of coffee and a homemade cinnamon roll?" I say to the driver.

I look around at the folks seated on the train. It is a sea of happy, well-scrubbed Seattle faces - all of whom seem to be holding their breath, waiting to be noticed. "In fact, why don't you ALL come in?" I inquire. With a cheer of delight, the entire train responds affirmatively. As we disembark, one man takes me aside and confides apologetically, "I'm allergic to cinnamon. Do you perhaps have scones?"

"If I don't, I can certainly whip some up," I reassure him.

"Come in, don't by shy!" I call to the people behind him. "By the way," I add, a twinkle in my eye, "anybody here play Yahtzee?"

Hours later, the driver has fallen asleep on the living room sofa and one or two of the passengers are saying they're sorry, they've had a wonderful time, but they really are expected elsewhere. No problem, I answer. I've ridden the monorail so many times I'm sure I can drive it. I mean, how hard can it be? It's on a track for goodness sake!

Just then the kids and their friends troop in, asking for snacks.

"I'll feed you when I get back," I promise. "But first, I have to run these people over to Golden Gardens."

Seeing the children reminds me that families like ours - who are lucky enough to have the monorail running through their home - may enjoy the added benefit of the opportunity to earn extra income. Stay-at-home moms and dads could easily earn money selling tacky souvenirs, magazines, and espresso coffee. And the children could certainly work as ticket takers.

I envision my own tots wearing little uniforms and informing on people who try to sneak aboard without paying. "Mom! Mom! HEY, MOM! This guy doesn't have a ticket! Can you believe it?! What a cheater!" They begin a rhythmic chanting: "Cheat-er, cheat-er! Loser, loser, double loser! Get the picture!? Duh!"

Boy, that fellow will never again try to board without a ticket.

When the monorail is running late, the littlest kids can hop around on one leg and entertain passengers by telling irritating knock-knock jokes.

"Knock-knock."

"Who's there?"

"Monorail."

"Monorail, who?"

"Umm, aren't you glad I didn't say banana?!"

Yes, I AM glad she didn't say banana. And I'm so glad Seattle is thinking seriously about building a monorail.