Illustration by Bob AulWhat the hell could you tell me is wrong with what I'm wearing? Are you actually sending me home because I had one hole in the knee of my jeans? Does it not strike you that I use that part of my body? Am I supposed to wear skirts every day like the other doll-faces in this institution, so whenever I kneel down the holes form in my kneecaps instead, even though I have to ice them every night anyway because they're so inflamed from running? I'll tell you what: I kneel down for NOBODY. Not some God, not any president, and definitely not to you. I don't believe in that, and I don't believe in skirts. What I do believe in is a place where I don't have to buy a fancy new pair of goddamn pants every month to keep you happy. You know why I have holes? Work. Baby-sitting, installing a porch, scrubbing a floor. You have no right to exercise authority over me because exercise, not to mention manual labor, is so far beyond you that you have to use “weight loss” techniques at home so you can fit through the doors in your office. Your life depresses me.
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