Born what way, now?

As you can probably imagine, I’m not the biggest fan of Lady Gaga.

Okay, so the words “fan” and “Lady Gaga” don’t really even belong in the same sentence when referring to me.

Be that as it may, I ruminated for a little while this morning on her song “Born This Way,” and I couldn’t help but giggle at the mental picture it conjured up. Granted, maybe L.G. was born in 3-foot platform shoes, sunglasses, and a meat dress. Who am I to say she lies?

But the rest of us were born this way:

Last I checked, there was no groundswell movement to get any of us to stay that way, regardless of the facts that a) it wasn’t our fault, and b) we couldn’t help it. In fact, I don’t know about you, but they slapped me, pricked me, washed me, and wrapped me up in a white blanket with pink stripes before I had time to say I was perfectly happy with me just the way I was, thankyouverymuch.

Maybe I’ll write a song about it.

It probably ruined my life.

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