Basketcase

Why pack when you can stand on the side of the road with a basket on your head?

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I called it a social experiment. I find it pathetic yet intriguing that one particular male felt so inclined to glare as he passed by, then turn around, call me a fag, only to come back up the street and honk. Why did he care that I had a basket on my head? I was enjoying the shade and the humor of my neighbor’s reactions — some simply stared, one smiled, another waved. But my mom called is psychotic. Apparently I gave her a heart attack and stomach drop as she rolled down our street. “Oh no,” she supposedly thought. “Heather has truly lost her mind.”

So little faith, Momma. So little faith.

HEY WORLD. GUESS WHAT. Tomorrow I move HOME to Colorado Springs!