208 pearls around the neck
On the parking lot of the little Montessori School where my last snotty nosed learns good manners, I
notice a car covered in stickers. It is almost impossible to distinguish the color of the car any more.
Intrigued, I decide to take various pictures of this amazing collection of Bumper Stickers as to
immortalize some jewels of this peculiar genre of literature.
I wasn’t disappointed.
No one is free when others are oppressed.
Keep your theology off my biology!
Friends don’t let friends vote Republican.
Don’t assume I share your prejudices.
Exercise the right to think for yourself.
Well-behaved women rarely make history.
Slower Minds Keep Right.
Say « I do » to equal marriage rights.
Feminism is the radical notion that women are people.
Dissent is the highest form of patriotism.
I think, so I am liberal.
Tree Hugging, Dirt Worshipper.
As I am raveling while taking pictures of the hood, trying to shoot photos between the license plate, a
bike holder, and the headlights, a heavy paw lays unexpectedly on my left shoulder.
“All OK? Having some fun? Is that MY car y’re targeting?”
I have my eye into the visor and my index finger is on the trigger. No denial, I am a blatant offender.
The paw on my shoulder becomes heavier; the voice admonishing me is brusque and manly.
With a fake relaxed attitude, I turn towards the unhappy car owner.
It is a woman (?): the enormous breasts in a skintight nylon T-Shirt are indeed an indication of her
gender.
The “Amazon” of the bicycle looks me up and down. An also-covered-in-stickers bike helmet is screwed
on her head and the features of her masculine face are less than friendly.
“This car is my private property. You should not infract what belongs to me! Do I come in your house
to take picture? DO I?”
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