where is that tiara?

I looked forever but I found it. My emergency tiara. The thing that comforts me when even the largest bag of cheetos has failed.

I had pissed off the poodle people. The breeders. The backyard breeders, to be more specific. and they were coming after me fast and furiously. They hijacked my FB page, they were texting me via my FB Messenger. And all I did was ask an innocent question, all in caps: ARE YOU GOING TO PUT THIS INNOCENT ANIMAL THROUGH YET ANOTHER PREGNANCY? The mama dog was expecting her third litter and I felt that it was too much. I had struck a nerve.

So, anyway, back to the tiara. I think life has come to the point where I must simply keep it on. Hearing crazy talk from our leaders. Calling the mechanic back. People who won’t call ME back. My comments about animal rights. Everyone needs an emergency tiara. It does things for you that a good bottle of Chardonnay could never do. It lets you smile at your mother-in-law. You sit up straighter. You question the mechanic.

My parents bought me the tiara for a dance recital when I was in high school and I’ve kept it all these years. My mother encouraged me to keep it when she watched me clean out my childhood room. Perhaps she knew that hard things would be in front of me. My family actually used the tiara long after the dance recital. Sometimes my dad would come home from work, feeling defeated from downhill meetings and as soon as he had a drink in his hand, my mother would yell for me to get the tiara. Now, my dad was balding but if I placed it just so, the combs would not dig into his skin. He would shake his head back and forth and tell us repeatedly that he was not in the mood for this game, but we paid no attention. Dad wore the tiara and sipped his drink. And by the time he was ready for a second, he was laughing.

Yes, we all need an emergency tiara. It soothes the soul. It lightens the load. It puts a sense of gayness back into life.

I’m late for my lunch meeting so I think I’ll throw it in my bag and run.