Oh my poor vanilla car.

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Oh my poor vanilla car.

The first time someone told me I didn’t live in Portland and my bumper stickers were going to cost me jobs, I rolled my eyes and laughed.

regina

The second time someone pointed out people might be suspicious of me as a social worker because of my bumper stickers, I was like “oh well, people learn when they are uncomfortable.”

judy

The third time I was like:

“OK FINE SWEET JEBUS. No, I don’t want to alienate my damn clients.”

walter

grumble grumble grumble hiss

So I finally stripped my poor car today.

Luckily, I was married to a redneck who did auto body and paint once, soooo I knew how to do it with out scratching my car but gees…

My poor car is humiliated.

She is vanilla.

She is now an asexual gender neutral it.

It is now apolitical.

The only thing that could offend my client’s now for sure is the fact it’s not American made.

Oh! And that it’s white. Damn it!

I have to draw the line.

But I suppose this is what being a grown-up anti-oppressive practitioner is.

Boo.

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