The Bearded Lady

They tell you to do what makes you happy. If that’s the case then I’ll move to the mountains, grow a beard and wear flannel. Become a dignified mountain man, or when in town the crazy bearded lady who smells like rotten tomatoes and campfire smoke. It’s all about perspective I guess.

 

Perhaps that’s taking things a bit too far.

 

For starters I could quit my job. Do something more gratifying than making meals for individuals who have no concept of volume control, cleanliness or manners. It’s sad when I have to say to myself through clenched teeth ‘you get paid an extra quarter for this.’ It doesn’t seem worth it for seven dollars and fifty cents an hour. But then I think of how expensive life is.

 

I’ll give my boss an extra smile tomorrow.

 

I could find a man to marry. That would please my father knowing that I’m not a lesbian and that I’m financially secure until death do us part. Or until he becomes a lying, cheating scumbag. Whichever comes first. 

 

Either way, both are inevitable.

 

So it sounds like my only option is to go upon the mountain and rely on myself in solidarity. I just hope beards aren’t as itchy as folk lure tells.

Reviews

[The Guerrilla Warhol]

oh they are itchy as f**k. especially on opiates. i'm moving to the mountains. lets be neighbors.