Decisions Decisions

Fine Man, Hot Car, What's the Problem?

I don't really remember deciding that I hated okra. I remember that my dad insisted that we eat it just the way he taught my mother to fix it - boiled, slimey, disgusting. I still don't like okra. Oh sure, if you fry it up, I'll probably find something about it that appeals to me. If I'm at a dinner party and everyone is eating okra, and the hostess really wants me to eat her okra...I can stomach it. It's just not my first choice.

I don't really remember deciding to be smart. I remember that my earliest elementary school years were quite interesting for my teachers. Being an army brat living on an army base, there was just one school, and it was filled with army brats of varying degrees of intelligence. The reading corner had a large bookshelf, and each shelf indicated a higher level of reading ability. I remember my second grade teacher asking me to quietly color during reading...there were no more levels beyond grade 12... there was nothing left for me to read.

I don't really remember choosing to be a fat kid. I remember crying during dinner because my dad wouldn't let me put extra butter on my mashed potatoes. I remember NOT being popular, and I remember struggling pretty much every day of my life to trim down. I'm 36 on Monday and I keep telling myself that THIS is the year for permanant change. I remember that I say that every year.

I don't really remember choosing to like boys. I remember slapping one across the face in second grade because I'd seen it on a soap opera the day before. I remember the first and last name of the very first boy who gave me butterflies (in sixth grade) and broke my heart all in the same week (Michael Anderson.) I remember my first sexual experience vividly. I remember my first satisfying sexual experience even MORE vividly.

But according to the religious right, I must have decided all these things...decided to hate okra, be smart, stay fat, fall in love with boys and have sex with men. After all, gay people make the choice to live that "lifestyle," so it just makes sense.

I would like to now choose to be independantly wealthy. I also choose to never die of cancer, and I would like to choose a different breast size. Further more, I hereby choose to not lose bone mass the way women tend to do, and I choose for my facial hair to cease appearing from this day forth.

I'm so thankful for the compassionate christians! Who knew it was as easy as "choice"?

Oh... does anyone have Antonio Banderas' phone number? I have decided he will divorce Melanie Griffith because that unholy union makes me ill.