It Beeing Passover And All
By: Ann Brown
You may recall a post of mine from a few months ago in which I told you about my African American friend, Wade. My point back then was that having an African American friend makes me, well, better than other white people who don’t have an African American friend.
And the barre has been raised yet again. You may want to take a few steps back to make way.
Because, get this: We are raising honey bees. Bees. Because they are disappearing from the earth. So you might say that we are saving the world. You just can’t wash the stink of cool off of me now.
Bees. And a black friend. I win.
If only I drove a Prius. And didn’t have psoriasis.
I have to confess, however, that I haven’t seen Wade in a while. Could he be ducking me? I don’t think he was offended when I first offered him up as proof that I am awesome, because I ran into Wade and Christine at Safeway a few weeks ago and they seemed happy to see me. Although, come to think of it, Wade was a tad standoffish. Especially when I tried to tongue kiss him in the produce aisle. You know, to fuck with any bigoted shoppers. I am all about challenging the dominant paradigm when it comes to making out with hot black men. I do my part; can you say the same?
Robin just read this and he wants any hot women out there who believe they may be anti-Semitic to make out with him. You know, to end prejudice and make this world a better place for our children.
But Wade? Are we cool, bro? No hard feelings that I used you in my blog to make me look good and all, right? Because Wade, and I say this with love, think of it this way: it’s possible that the fact that you have a middle-aged, Jewish woman WHO RAISES BEES, as your friend elevates YOUR station in life, as well. Can any other of your African American friends boast that same claim? Will they be getting a surprise package of chocolate-covered matzo at their door this week?
Okay, well, neither are you but that’s not the point. I already ate all the chocolate-covered matzo. Sorry, but I was feeling a hankering to experience what my people experienced wandering the desert for forty years with nothing to eat but chocolate-covered matzos and nothing to read but Highlights magazine with the hidden objects already circled. Not to mention the one deoderant crystal they all had to share. I mean, those fuckers don’t even work in sub-zero temperatures. Forty years in the desert? Hoo-boy.
Are you listening, Wade? Do you hear how our people’s struggles are so similar? Why won’t you make out with me, then?
And now, in the spirit of the season of liberation from slavery, I am going outside to let the bees out of the hive.
[Photo Credit: fuegO]