Today I saw a sign being shared that was originally from an Episcopal church. People commented on it about how great it was, how it was all about love, and how this is what Jesus meant.
I call bullshit.
A massive, steaming pile of fresh, fly-attracting bullshit.
A field full of massive, steaming piles of fresh, fly-attracting bullshit.
I don’t love you.
I don’t have to love you.
Love is like respect.
You try to love and respect people when you meet them.
You try to assume the best in them.
You try to believe that the love and respect will be reciprocated, that there is a level of parity that is reached, and that there will be a mutual response.
When that doesn’t happen – when that person makes it clear that they want to oppress you, deny you your rights, imprison you, and, yes, even kill you simply because of who you are at your fundamental core…
I do not have to love that person.
You do not have to love that person.
Loving that person is allowing them to continue with their messages of hatred.
Loving that person is being complicit in their hate and anger and behavior.
Loving that person is agreeing that it is okay to discriminate
I’m terrified of spiders. Not shocking news, especially for anyone who reads this blog or knows me in real life.
What I’m not terrified of is lizards.
I love lizards.
I love them so, so, so much.
I love them so much that whenever I find their little desiccated corpses which means that one of them was brutally kitty-murdered, I’m super sad as I toss it into the trash. (Which doesn’t sound like I’m that sad, but, honestly, what else can you do with a little lizard corpse?)
So when the blinds in the living rooms shifted, I almost freaked out and ran away. Then I spotted a green tail sticking out. A second later, a green head popped out.
A lizard in the house…with the murdering kitties. And, to be fair, puppies. The puppies don’t catch them as often, but I do know that a certain puppy quite enjoys the hunt and is happy when she manages a kill.
I had to rescue it before it began kitty – or puppy – chow.
The problem with the lizards we have around are that they are fast, and they don’t like to be captured. If you foolishly try to grab them, they drop their tail and make a break for it while you have that completely natural reaction of “oh my god, there’s a part of a lizard in my hand!”
This time, though, I had a cunning plan.
Waiting to get put back up above the cabinets was a Halloween candy container that had a lid.
I could totally catch this lizard and save him.
The only problem was that he didn’t want me to.
I don’t think that it was because he enjoyed hiding the slats of the blinds – although, since I’m not a lizard, perhaps that’s actually some sort of spa-like experience for them, and he thought I was ruining his perfectly enjoyable afternoon.
I made a few ill-advised attempts to get him to jump into the container.
Hint: lizards do jump, but not into clear containers.
Instead, he jumped down to the window ledge or jumped back up into the blinds.
I knew I only had a few more chances before he would drop to the floor, hide under some furniture, and become kibble for one of the animals in the house.
“Get in the bucket! It will save you!” I told him.
“You’ll die! You’ll die!” Which, if he understood English, he might have taken as a threat.
I don’t think I suddenly convinced him with my yelling. I think he probably just ran out of options since I had been forcing him downward until the container was between him and the floor.
He jumped into the container.
“I have saved you, lizard!” I yelled at him as I rested the lid on top. I didn’t want to push it down – if he had been too close, I might have killed him, which would have made the entire ten minutes I’d spent on saving him into a wasted ten minutes instead of ten minutes that made me a hero.
I brought him outside onto the back porch, which meant the dogs wanted to come along, too. To try to keep him saved, I put the container down on a chair, above the dogs’ easy reach, and opened it.
He looked up at me.
He looked up at me.
“Get out of the bucket!”
He looked up at me.
“Let me rescue you!”
He still hadn’t gotten out of the bucket. I began to suspect that perhaps we had bonded, and now he didn’t want to leave me. I couldn’t blame him. I mean, who would want to leave me, especially after I saved their life?
But I knew it was best for him to rejoin nature.
I grabbed the bucket and tried to slide him out.
I guess lizards have super amazing pads on their feet because he didn’t slide. He stuck to the plastic side of the container. He didn’t budge.
“Don’t make me hurt you!” I said.
“Don’t fight it!”
Even as I slid the lizard to his outdoor fate, I couldn’t help but think of a particular episode of “Better Off Ted.” I couldn’t make the lizard watch it – he wouldn’t understand it, plus, having been forced from the container, he’d made a break for it, and I’d already lost him.
So here it is – for you – part of “The Great Repression”