Plight of the Independent Woman

I can get myself up in the morning, even if I don't want to.

I can make rockin' eggs and scrub the forks when I have to.

I can buy myself peonies and select the smallest buds to bloom the biggest and longest with the most fragrant scent.

I can pay the rent, contest the traffic tickets, and sue the pants off anybody who owes me money.

I can get sick, get hurt, get surgery and deal with chronic pain all without any insurance.

I can jump off a cliff, hike a mountain, crawl through a tunnel, slog through sand, and climb down rocks without a guide, a compass, or an outstretched hand.

I can find a job, move away, and be anyone I want to be.

I can go out and get off.

I can take myself to dinner and be wooed by any number of swarthy bartenders, waiters, busboys and chefs at the swankiest of places. What I can't pay for, I can get for free.

I can watch scary movies and rock myself to sleep.

I can cry so hard I wish I'd never wake up again, and do it all over again the next morning.

I can do all these things all by myself.

But it would be nice to not have to.



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