Here is baby French Fry, with their namesake for scale.

… no, but I believe in your ability to make absolutely schizoposting levels of fake Chick Tract.

It was! Also this class happened at the height of the popularity of 50 Shades of Grey so I ended up needing to soapbox about the difference between like… consensual BDSM vs. actual domestic abuse because Christian Domestic Discipline is, uhhhh, sure a fascinating thing that exists in this world.

It was while I was in a Feminist/Womanist ethics class with the late Dr. Katie Cannon and she was encouraging me to bring it in so we could do the theological equivalent of “yo, this smells awful, come smell this!”

I get silicone lube in my eyes often enough as is tho :(

I was very much in my I Can Do Anything Boys Can Do, Stronger, Faster, Backwards, And In Heels phase so whether this was more of a display of dominance on my part or purely an altruistic act of service will have me start yelling in a very NOTHING TO SEE HERE way about Doctrine of Double Effect.

(This isn’t…not… the content of an actual Cool Theology Tome on my bookshelf; I can hand it to you the next time you’re over)

My cousin is (now) a professional cellist and paid for undergrad partly by performing at purity balls. She spent her breaks stealing pretty much anything that wasn’t nailed down from the merch and info tables and sending it to me as absolutely cursed care packages in divinity school.

We had the (VERY CORRECT) policy of “do not friend minors on social media” so I was delighted when, out of nowhere, a half dozen campers tracked *me* once they were in college to be like “hey most of us are queer, trans, pagans, atheists, or some combo therein” and I was all:

Shoutout to my one Bible camper who, after the head counselor gave his weekly “girls are pink and boys are blue and I don’t want to see any purpling on the dance floor” came up to me & very shyly went “but what if I want to make magenta?” and I was like “I hope you get *so* many chances someday.”

So many eggs in my youth group you can’t tell paschal from ordinary time

Being a folding-chair femme was absolute catnip to a certain type of youth group boy who would never grow to manhood because Her Call Would Come From A Nobler And Thornier Path

Thank you to the aforementioned Elder Lesbians for not mentioning this much earlier speculation to my face until I was in my mid-to late-20s, but if y’all could’ve figured out an age-appropriate “yer a dyke, Harry” that would’ve made *a lot* of college and grad school make more sense.

He is a very cool ophthalmologist and like, actively wants to explain all his scans and show you cool shit about your eyes! He just also happens to be the person who is making me Fill Eyeballs With Goo

Every time my phone alarm goes off I’m having to bathe my eyes in what feels like extremely cold, sterile, silicone lube.

“So you’re saying I’m seeing through a raisin, darkly?”

“Yes, but soon we shall see grape-to-grape.”

“Oh, I *like* you.”

“Anyway I’m prescribing you eyedrops you need to apply literally once an hour every hour you’re awake; come back when the bottle is gone.”

Y’all these eyedrops are GROSS