Shirley (not her real name) Writes A Manifesto - Part 1

RubberMoon stamp image, one of mine.

We reach at point, most of us, when it just won't do.  Sometimes none of it, sometimes very little.  Shirley (not her real name) had already rolled at least two county lines past that point.  She sat with her unstockinged legs and bare feet out the driver's side of the still-sweet, almost-impossibly vintage Cadillac Coupe de  Ville and started to write in her green steno notebook.  The angle of the sun caused her to squint but she needed the good light to see by.  Nobody here is getting any younger, she said.  She talked to the sky or herself regularly.  Both were good listeners.

"MANIFESTO," she printed at the top of the page.  She'd chosen a fresh pen so it would be less likely to skip.  God, she hated a skipping pen.  "Whenever possible, choose not to be an asshole."  In front of the statement she printed a Roman numeral I.  Something much more Biblical or academic about Roman numerals, she thought, more adamant.  Like those (shudder) term papers.  She had only tried to bluff her way through one once, disastrously.  In her mind's vision, though, she could still see a format, indent, indent, indent.  Not likely, she thought.  Flush left all the way.

"II. Be grateful.  Period.  You don't need to say for what.  Just say thank you a lot.  You won't go wrong."

"III. You'll survive being a fool, if you don't do it too often." 

"IV.  If love wants to make you stupid, let it.  We're going to be stupid anyway so we might as well have some fun."

"V.  Say yes to any opportunity that requires fancy dress.  Be in a play or a talent show.  Go to a costume party.  Carry props with you.  At any moment, someone might need a fairy godmother.  The pros are always prepared."

"VI.  It is rude not to dance with someone who asks you.  The same is not true for proposals of marriage."

"VII.  Let it go.  Doesn't matter what it is, let it go.   Let.  It.  Go."

-to be continued