I have a confession.
I love pumpkin spice.
Yep, I said it.
We took our first ever family bike ride on Saturday, and as a treat after, we visited a local ice cream shop. I was quite excited to find the owner had put out the autumn flavors already. Take note, that it’s still a balmy 90 plus degrees where I live, but dammit, it’s fall! So I happily imbibed pumpkin spice ice cream and tested pumpkin spice cheesecake ice cream to boot.
In the last few years especially, I’ve noticed the rise of the term “basic white girl” in regard to the love of pumpkin spice, certain tattoos, and various other things. I’m covered in tattoos, though I have none that are considered “basic” and as I’ve already confessed, I love pumpkin spice. So, does that make me basic?
I really don’t care.
What annoys and quite honestly sickens me is the inability for people to let others enjoy what makes them happy. Does my love of pumpkin spice hurt anyone? Not that I’m aware of. Does someone else’s love of anchor tattoos espousing “refuse to sink” hurt others? Nope, it just doesn’t make sense, but its not on my body, so who am I to say anything?
I often wonder if those who are so quick to judge get some kind of sick form of happiness from making others cry or at least making them unhappy. It reminds me of the bullies on the playground when I was in elementary school. Little Susie was proudly showing off her new dress, twirling the skirt around and round, when all of a sudden, here comes Little Janie, throwing dirt on her. Janie didn’t have a new dress, and she was jealous, so she turned her sadness into meanness.
Have we really not evolved and grown enough past elementary school bullshit to allow others to be happy?
There’s nothing wrong with a little good natured ribbing. My husband and I do it a lot, regarding food especially. The kids and I love to dip our french fries in Frostys from Wendys. He thinks this is the most disgusting thing ever. Our daughter tells him he’s the weird one for not liking it. She knows there’s nothing wrong with him having his own tastes, just like there’s nothing wrong with ours. If an eight year old gets it, why don’t adults seem to be able to do so?
When you don’t allow someone the room to be themselves, whether it’s their choices in food, or their choices in life, you’re telling them they aren’t enough. That something about them will always be wrong. And that is never okay. People need the ability to be comfortable in their own skin in order to grow and it’s difficult to have that when bombarded from all sides about simple, every day choices.
A final word
Let’s all take a moment to relax and figure out what small thing makes us happy and go for it. For me, when it finally does get cold enough around here, my not so basic ass will be clad in leggings, an oversized hoodie, complete with hair in a messy bun. And guess what?
I’ll be comfortable.