A fork is a fork…

Recently,I decided I want to know all the great mysteries of life and I am starting with Casa Gypsy.  Where does the silverware go? Is there a vortex for spoons and forks, like the one that lives inside my dryer eating socks?  Are the children feeling a little anemic or maybe they just have the munchies?? Am I raising goats??  What happens to it? They aren’t tucked into any of the furniture, I know because I looked.   Please know that my youngest child is approaching double digits and the oldest is 22… these aren’t babies who don’t know better.  So where the hell are my forks?

I would also like to know why only I can detect wetness in clothing that are not yet ready to leave the dryer.  If it were a special sensation tracked by estrogen, I might understand… but much like my ovaries doubling as a tracking device, only a seasoned mother is able to recognize moisture in fabric.  It’s quite the same as the fact that the toilet paper roll is a magical device only I can operate and only I know the secret recipe for ice.  This is your superpower, Miss Shannon… the ability to see and eradicate dirt and buy new flatware.  There’s my claim to fame, everybody’s got one.  I consider myself to be multitalented (verbiage for a jack of all trades and a master of none) but this is ridiculous.  If the goal is to prepare our little humans for life, I have failed this city.

Which brings me to the fishbowl… In many ways, this town has been good to me. In others… not so much.  People laugh when I say I keep to myself, but it’s how you survive here.  I have lived in the fishbowl off and on for the last twenty-five years.  I cannot go to any store in town without running into someone I know, which is apparently not true at the bike run hosted here.  Can you even believe the only people I knew there were Dozer’s people?  Yeah, me neither, but true story.  Bikers are usually good people… Sons of Anarchy is just a show, friends.  In real life, those folks show up with dinner and labor when you’re down and out, not blow torches they want to fry your flesh with.  They like babies and cream puffs and Miss Shannon’s pierogis.

We’re talking about forks (which are actually becoming a life crisis for me) and bikers because my privilege is showing.  I have to take a hiatus from politics because I’m a heartbeat away from accusing friends and loved ones of bludgeoning baby seal pups on account of their willful unwillingness to agree with me.  (How dare you?)  I’m actually fairly moderate… I can’t even imagine how people who are seriously left or right must feel.  For me… fiscal responsibility, two thumbs up!!  Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream he gave his very life for…respect it.  The American people do not starve our children, instead we feed them and provide them with a free public education. Please, please look for the trees in the forest.  There is so much more at stake than your tax bill… Maybe the kid in the Ghetto can cure cancer, diabetes or maybe he just deserves a shot to succeed.  Level the playing field, the kids (human beings) you think lack value will prove you’re wrong.  And who the fuck are you to decide who’s worthy?  Miss Shannon cannot even keep track of her forks, so cannot decide for you.

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