I’m a Rebel
And I will not repent.
I drive at or near the speed limit, often. I work from home, never in a hurry except for emergencies. This aggravates anyone I am in a car with, so I’m never the one to drive, which is fine. One of my nicknames is “Captain Slow,” after James May in the Top Gear TV show. But I love being alone in my convertible on a straight stretch of road with nobody behind me, and just doing my own thing. I own this slice of my world.
I love baking, but I don’t follow the recipe. One teaspoon of vanilla? Pfft. Dump in half the bottle. Someday I will write my own recipe book, called “Grab a Stick of Butter.”
I fart on cats. They deserve this. I have woken up to the aroma of a fresh turd in the bedroom litterbox so many times. I always pet them afterwards.
I draw on the sidewalk. The lawn maintenance company next door at the vacation rental scrubs them off now and then, but I’ve left the box of chalk by the mailbox and others have added to my scribbles.
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Sometimes I don’t shave my legs for months. My boyfriend says he likes the fur more than the stubble of shaved-two-days-ago. But he also calls me “wookie.” I’m okay with that.
I steal fruit. When I see a neglected tree, I gather the apples or lemons that have fallen into the edge of the yard, the sidewalk and the gutter. Some of the best apples I have ever baked with came from such foraging.
I re-gift. Why does everyone give me weirdly scented soaps? (Hopefully this is not a gentle nudge to bathe more often.)
I love that we have this platform to express our true selves, as well as share insights about life, and fictional stories from our imaginations.
Go forth and be yourself, my fellow rebels.
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