Freedom! Freedom!

Alaska, Can You Hear Me?

Nothing says being liberated more, not even burning my bra, than me being born on Bastille Day…if I lived in France.

Even my name, Joan, as in Joan of Arc, suggests liberation. Joan helped liberate France…sadly, she was burned at the stake…which explains my fear of smoke, but she was a liberator, nevertheless.

I do my best to live up to my birthdate and namesake. I’m free as a bird—no husband or children, no job, no money.

It’s fun not to be tied down by love. Through Dionne Warwick, my songwriting pals Burt Bacharach and Hal David put it best—

“What do you get when you kiss a guy? You get enough germs to catch pneumonia.”

And guess what? No covid or pneumonia for this gal. I come and go as I please. I live in a “you go, Joan!” apartment.

Clean when I want…or not.

If I feel like scotch and potato chips for breakfast and dinner, no one’s going to tell me no.

Nothing takes me down except 90% humidity and the resulting weight of my hair frizz.

Hmm. Maybe to be truly liberated, I should move to a place with a humidity-free climate like Alaska. Alaska would understand my needs and let me live the unencumbered life I was meant to live.

Move over, Sarah Palin. There’s a new frizz-free sheriff in town. Alaska, I’m all yours.