Gimme Back My Wig

Sometimes I catch myself wishing I were popular; then I remember how much work it is, being likable for others’ sakes, and I say, nah—fuck that, I’ve done my time as a people pleaser. I don’t have time to waste constructing saccharine façades for carb-counting contemporaries who can’t kick the fake sweets. And here’s a secret: I’m not nice, and I don’t wake up in the morning with a song in my heart. If I did, it would be a blues number. As Hound Dog Taylor would say, “Gimme back my wig, honey let your head go bald.”