I saw Crystal Gayle in concert when I was a kid, and I remember relating to Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue—not because I had experienced soul-crushing heartbreak at the age of seven, but because my eyes are brown. I remember she performed nearly the entire show with her back to the audience, and her long black hair wiped the floor with every sway. She’s 70 now and still has all the hair and I’m telling this story only because I started growing my hair out last week and it’s going really well. I mean, it’s not as long as Crystal Gayle’s hair or even YOUR hair but this is not a race.
Wait. What? Did I get the Covid vaccination? I did. I didn’t do it because I’m one of those placenta-eating Birkenstock-wearing crystal-powered liberals. I did it because I know some people who have died from the virus (not always with comorbidities), and I know several people who have had it (both pre- and post-vaccine). One of those people is a teenager who had it over a year ago and she is still unable to eat regular foods, which sucks because I think kids should be able to eat foods. If you have decided to not get vaccinated because (insert whatever excuse here, it’s really not my business), please steer clear of the folks who would like to get it, but can’t. Why? Simple. Because kids should be able to eat foods. And maybe you should wear a mask. (You should.) I promise it won’t make you look like a big Obama-loving hairy-legged patchouli-stinking freak. In fact, to emphasize the fact that you’re not all in, maybe you could embroider “Covid Schmovid” on your mask. How about “‘Til I finish my dessert, nobody eatin’.”? (It’s a Wu Tang lyric!) Whatever it takes to make you feel strong (and keep you and your people alive).
I like to sit outside in the evenings, and this guy has visited me three times in the past week. (I recognize him because of his ripped wing.) He sits in the chair next to mine and I tell him stories about my grandpa who was able to talk to butterflies until they crawled onto his finger. (The butterfly loves my stories.) I have no idea how long our friendship will last, but we’re both enjoying it for now. (Did you know that butterflies can’t feel pain? This is why I won’t waste time telling my new friend what it felt like to be in labor or how I once had to go to the emergency room after making a bunch of bad food choices.)
Overalls tend to say things like “You might see me as a placenta-eating Birkenstock-wearing crystal-powered Obama-loving hairy-legged patchouli-stinking liberal, but maybe I’m just a delightful woman who makes friends with butterflies.”