In praise of chingona women

I am proud to come from a long line of badass women

After I hit my vax date a few weeks ago, I flew out to see my mom, whom I had not seen in over a year.

I arrived to find a house in a state of transition.

My mom has decided she wants to redecorate.

For most people, “redecorate” means a little bit of paint, maybe some new furniture.


Not only is my mom painting, but she is also fixing the things that have bugged her since she bought the house.

What you see above is part of the process of her recentering and replacing the door frame at the bottom of the basement stairs. The builders did a crummy job and it’s always bothered my mom, so she decided to fix it.

A neighbor lent her the tools that she didn’t already have (my dad left a decent workshop) and she looked up the process on youtube.

Yes you read that right: My mother taught herself how to remove a door frame, recenter the space, which includes adding some drywall and/or plaster on the side to be extended and accounting for the UNEVEN WALL GOOD LORD DO ANY BUILDERS TAKE PRIDE IN THEIR WORK ANYMORE?, size the new doorjambs, miter the corners, and install them.

I, however, will be spending this holiday weekend reading books, watching movies, and eating bonbons.

I hope you enjoy your holiday as well, either as a productive chingona or as a lazy one.


If they do it with you, they’ll do it to you

The trauma of being betrayed by a co-worker


Over a year ago, I lost my job in a re-org.

Now, one of the Evil People from Old Job has turned up at New Job.

And she wants to talk to me.

Until the re-org, I was happy at Old Job. I had a great boss and fun work.

Then my company was bought by a German company and the new owners brought in all these GE people (if you know anything about GE, this is where your blood starts to run cold) to run things.

Instead of getting European-style vacation, we got GE madness and meanness.

I was moved away from my great boss into a different group with a new VP, who henceforth shall be known as Regina (although at least Regina George was smart – VP Regina is just mean).

VP Regina, who came from GE, had all kinds of new rules that she did not articulate until after they were broken, like, we couldn’t expense the in-flight wireless on a work trip (even though my Great Boss had always approved that expense) or work from home (even though with Great Boss, I worked from home whenever he traveled, which was about 30% of the time, because he was the only person in my office I worked with – everyone else was in another state or Europe).

VP Regina inherited her admin, Gretchen, from the previous VP, Molly, who is nice.

Molly learned on Christmas Eve that the new CEO (from GE) was hiring a new VP.

Yes, the CEO called Molly on Christmas Eve to tell her that he was hiring someone to replace her.

Regina, new VP from GE Regina, would start at the end of January and that Molly would be demoted and be reporting to Regina.

So you see why CEO had to deliver this news to Molly on Christmas Eve.

This is who these people are.

They call people on Christmas Eve to tell them they are being demoted.

Gretchen became Regina’s admin.

When Gretchen worked for Molly, she was fine. I would talk to her and had a pleasant relationship with her.

But when she became Regina’s admin, she also became Regina’s spy, reporting on what my co-workers and I said and did.

I know our environment was nothing like East Germany or the Soviet Union, but there were a lot of very hushed conversations and wild wavings of hands to warn of the Presence of Gretchen the Spy.

After a year, Regina eliminated my position.

Let me re-phrase that: After a year,

  • Where Regina never gave objectives to anyone on the team
  • Where she visited our office only two times (she was in another city)
  • Where she called meetings for 7 a.m. the day before
  • Where she canceled 7 a.m. meetings at 10 p.m. the night before, which meant that unless you were checking your email that late (I was not – on principle, I refuse to work that late), you didn’t know about the cancellation until you showed up for the meeting. (And then she didn’t even explain why she had cancelled the meeting – I would have accepted a medical or family emergency, but she didn’t even apologize)
  • Where she told me the night before the team meeting that she was going to have me report to the person I had helped hire and train – a person who had no management experience. Where she told me the night before only because we happened to be walking back to the hotel together. Where if she hadn’t told me that night, I would have found out the next day when she announced her new org structure in the team meeting. That is, I would have found out in a room full of my co-workers that the VP was making the person I hired and trained – the person who had no experience managing – my boss.
  • Where she had even before making this org change considered making the person with only eight years of work experience my boss.

After a year where I was miserable and didn’t know who my boss was or what I was supposed to be working on (so I kept doing what I had been doing),

Regina eliminated my position.

(It was pretty clear to me by then that Regina did not like me, for whatever reason, and I was job hunting.)

Evil Gretchen was her henchman, collecting my computer and credit card and checking to make sure my vacation records were accurate and when she found a mistake in my favor (a mistake she had made), rather than let it slide, she made darn sure she got it corrected so I would not get an extra $1,000.

People I respected at Old Job were horrified and tried to use their power to save my job, but to no avail.

I got over it.

I got a new job.

I have PTSD from Old Job – I am still concerned every time my new boss wants to talk to me and I don’t trust compliments.

Regina used to tell me, “I talked to [whomever] and they really like the work you do!”

She always sounded puzzled when she said that, though.

And when she let me go, she was vicious, telling me everything I had done wrong in the past six months.

She had not shared that information with me at the time, when I could actually have done something about it.

But in general, new job is fine and I have moved past the Regina/Gretchen experience.

Last week, I saw in a presentation that included photos of new employees.

I thought I saw Evil Gretchen on one of the slides.

But maybe I saw it wrong? Please let it be wrong.

I texted a friend at Old Job immediately.

Turns out Evil Regina had fired Evil Gretchen last summer.

And now Evil Gretchen is an admin in my group.


My heart started racing and I started to sweat.

And then I thought, Texan, you are working from home. You haven’t even met your boss in person. And your team is 100% supporting a group that group VP really has nothing to do with.

The chances of running into Gretchen were almost nothing.

How would she even know I work at New Job? I don’t do anything with VP.

I calmed down and carried on.

And then on Monday, a Skype message popped up on my screen.

It was from Evil Gretchen.

I hit “ignore” immediately.


Turns out if you hit “ignore,” the sender knows you are ignoring her.

Just leave the message up until it goes away by itself. Then the sender doesn’t know if you aw it or what.

That was a mistake.

She messaged my again.

I hit ignore again.

Even if you ignore a Skype message, it will appear in your email under the “conversations” section.

I tried to ignore the messages from Evil Gretchen.

I tried.

Narrator: She failed. She did not ignore the messages.

But like Eve and the apple, I HAD TO KNOW.

I opened the messages. The second one said, “You don’t want to talk to me!”


The first one said something like, “Can you believe it?”

You mean, can I believe that drama from my past has come into my present?

Can I believe that karma is nasty enough that I cannot put that old job behind me?


Yeah, I can believe it.

Because it’s the time of covid and everything stinks.

I answered her.

“I’m sorry,” I wrote. “I am super busy. I can’t talk. And honestly, I want to leave all that behind me. I still have PTSD.”

I hit send and thought, Well, at least THAT’S over.

She wrote back.

“Let me know when you have time to talk!!!”

And I thought, “Did I not make myself clear?”

Because what men want to do with our bodies is more important that what we want to do with them

We have breasts so that men might have something to fondle and breast cancer is way worse on men than it is on women

Spanish women aren’t having it. They are done with misogyny.

I read a great piece by Monica Hesse about Philip Roth, one of the first writers my mom ever tried to stop me from reading. My mom took Portnoy’s Complaint away from me, so I just went back to the library and read it there.

I got no further than the liver scene before I realized I was not interested in the problems of an adolescent boy who was looking for ways to masturbate.

(Related – I am also no longer interested in the problems of rich New Yorkers. It is a bit surprising to me that so many novels with this topic are published. Good thing I get my books from the library instead of buying them. Otherwise, I would feel compelled to finish a book I don’t like or where I don’t care about the people who are distressed because they cannot get their four year old into the $45,000 a year pre-school of their choice or one of the four nannies has quit. OH THE SUFFERING.)

Anyhow, Hesse is talking about some guy – Blake Bailey – who has written a biography of Roth. The title of the piece is Philip Roth and the sympathetic biographer: This is how misogyny gets cemented in our culture. If that doesn’t pique your interest, I don’t know what will.

Bailey is a fanboy who, according to this piece, “reports his delight at overhearing the ‘muffled streams’ of ‘our greatest living novelist’ peeing.”

He has also been accused of rape and the publisher stopped the presses on publishing the book.


MY POINT is that Hesse quotes critic Linda Grant, who reviewed one of Roth’s books, in which

a cancer-stricken woman uses her last day before a mastectomy to visit her former professor/lover so that he may fondle her chest and say goodbye.

Grant notes that every woman she discussed this passage with burst out laughing at the preposterousness of this idea.

Monice Hesse

When I had my bad mammogram right before Christmas 2019 and had to wait until early January 2020 to get the second mammogram – the one that would tell me I had cancer or I didn’t have cancer, all I could think of was letting someone else say goodbye to my breasts./sarcasm off


All I – and Mr T – could think of was, What if it’s cancer?

What if it’s cancer?

What if it’s cancer?

What if it’s cancer?

To make things interesting, I had just lost my job and we were going to go on cobra – $1,200 a month thank you very much – for our health insurance.

Is there a better name than “cobra” for health insurance? This coiled, hissing threat that terrifies everyone?

Neither Mr T nor I were thinking about anyone saying goodbye to my breasts.

Admittedly, my breasts are nothing to get excited about.

My grandmother observed that I didn’t “have much up top” and said I got that from her.

Which I did.

What I did not get from her was her 5’7″ willowy frame that even at her 50th wedding anniversary, still fit into her wedding dress.

I have to admit that in the movie Ordinary Lives, in the scene of the night before her mastectomy, Lesley Manville’s character and Liam Neeson’s character have a touching love scene, but a man wrote the screenplay. Would a woman write the same thing? I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me – even a tight deadline at work has me too stressed for any of that stuff.

(Also, there’s a difference between a pre-mastectomy love scene between longtime partners and making sure that your former professor gets a chance to grope you one more time.)

Where was I?



A male writer writing about a woman whose last act before her mastectomy was to make sure that her former professor and perhaps current lover (it’s not clear to me) could fondle her breasts.

Not for her gratification.

For his.

I am thinking – and this is a wild guess – that no woman would every write a scene like that.

I leave you with this amazing poem I discovered.

He tells her that the Earth is flat –

He knows the facts, and that is that.

In altercations fierce and long

She tries her best to prove him wrong.

But he has learned to argue well.

He calls her arguments unsound

And often asks her not to yell.

She cannot win. He stands his ground.

The planet goes on being round.

He Tells Her, Wendy Cope

Let’s talk about blood

“We are not statues,” said my college friend H, as she rolled her eyes at my attempt to hide the tampons so any boy in our rooms wouldn’t see them

As a statue, she does not bleed. But as a woman, Clara Campoamor Rodríguez surely dealt with this issue.

We are not supposed to say these things out loud

What our bodies do is taboo. Women’s issues are not taken seriously. The things that define us are mocked or disregarded.




How often do you hear people talking about these things in public? At work? Around men?

And when they are talked about, it’s to dismiss us:

We are on the rag.

It’s that time of the month.

Blood coming out of our whatever.

Hence, our feelings, our declarations, are to be ignored. How can the opinion of a woman who is menstruating be valid?

I suggested a friend refer to Fitbit’s period tracker in a speech she is giving at work

She agreed it was an appalling story, then laughed and said, “I CAN’T TALK ABOUT PERIODS AROUND MEN!”

What is “erectile dysfunction?”

We all know what erectile dysfunction is.

How could we not? Orders of magnitude more money is spent on ED research than on PMS, menopause, etc. etc.


Oh I don’t know. Because ED doesn’t cause physical pain and the lack of getting laid doesn’t affect a man’s everyday life?

Because women are in debilitating pain from endometriosis? Because women still die in childbirth? Because women’s genitals are LITERALLY CUT OFF?

Excuse me that I can’t muster any sympathy for your huge problem of not being able to get laid. Boo hoo for you.

Remember your first period? And maybe that awful belt and pad your mom gave you because that’s what we had back then?

Those pads were so thick that my jeans wouldn’t fit properly. How did I even carry spares in my purse? Even a pocket – if we actually had them in our clothes – wouldn’t have been big enough.

(Fortunately, we have solved the ED problem.)

Remember the time in junior high your pad leaked or you got your period early and it showed on your pants and you were so embarrassed you wanted to die?

I stupidly wore white pants to school.

Ooops. White pants should be worn only in the week after the end of a period. Silly me.

That was a fun day at school.

So many pants and underwear ruined or, at the best, stained with blood.

So many times when I had to throw my sheets in the sink before I left for work because the pad wasn’t thick enough. So many times I was relieved that I had a rubber pad under the sheets.

This is just part of our life as women. We bleed, and the tools we have to handle the problem are not sufficient.

(Fortunately, we have solved the ED problem.)

Remember being worried about throwing away the bloody evidence – that someone might see it in the trash?

Do you wrap it in toilet paper? That seems so wasteful. But what if someone saw it? Saw our blood? Isn’t that shameful? Nobody should know we bleed.

(Fortunately, we have solved the ED problem.)

“My hands are of your colour, but I shame to wear a heart so white,” 

Even Shakespeare got it. Oh. Wait.

All the blood on our hands! All the menstrual blood on our hands!

Two German men designed a solution to this problem – gloves that we can carry in little pouches in our purses or pockets – the pockets we don’t have or, if we do have them, are not big enough to hold much but I digress.

We carry these gloves. And then put them on when we have to change our bloody products. Because there is no other way to resolve the blood problem and this is certainly the biggest issue facing women these days.


I genuinely may never recover from 3 men deciding women needed pink gloves to remove their tampons (clearly never having bothered to speak to a woman in their entire lives) AND THEN MADE IT TOO BIG FOR PRETTY MUCH EVERY WOMAN’S HAND EVER. I have default male peaked.

Caroline Criado Perez (If you are not subscribing to her newsletter, please start. She is amazing.)

What if this poem about leaking through a tampon had been taught in our high-school English class?

What if any poetry that described our lives had been taught?

If you ever woke in your dress at 4am ever

closed your legs to a man you loved opened

them for one you didn’t moved against

a pillow in the dark stood miserably on a beach

seaweed clinging to your ankles paid

good money for a bad haircut backed away

from a mirror that wanted to kill you bled

into the back seat for lack of a tampon

if you swam across a river under rain sang

using a dildo for a microphone stayed up

to watch the moon eat the sun entire

ripped out the stitches in your heart

because why not if you think nothing &

no one can / listen I love you

joy is coming.

To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall, Kim Addonizio

(Fortunately, we have solved the ED problem.)

Remember when you had cramps so bad you fainted on the bathroom floor?

I had cramps.

I thought they were normal.

But I did ask my doctor about them and she said she could put me on birth control pills.

I couldn’t take BCP! I was a high school girl! I was a Good Girl! Birth control pills were for Girls Who Were Having Sex and I didn’t believe in pre-marital sex.

I did not get the BCP.

I was in pain, bent over on the toilet, with bad diarrhea.

A few years later, I got ibuprofen, which was prescription only at the time. I think I took 800 mg at a time.

But I had to take it before I had the cramps for it to work.

I didn’t always have cramps. Some months yes, some no.

I didn’t want to waste my precious prescription-only ibuprofen on a month where I didn’t have cramps.

I was in pain, lying in bed with my knees to my chest, feeling the pain pass through me in waves, waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in, waiting for the waves to get further apart, which meant that the end of the pain was within view.

Then I got Anaprox, which I just this minute learned is Naproxen, which is also now an OTC drug.

I was starting grad school and getting an individual health insurance policy. The only way I could get the policy was if they excluded diseases of the reproductive organs – which was the only part of my body that gave me problems.

They said – holy smoke I cannot believe this – that if my cramps were that bad that I needed anaprox, WHICH IS NAPROXEN, there must be something really wrong with me.

When I finally started taking BCP, my cramps stopped.

I was so angry that nobody had tried to explain to me that BCP were not just about preventing pregnancy – that they regulated hormones and helped prevent pain.

I was also angry because it took me years to get the right BCP. Among other things, I had pills that gave me the mask of pregnancy, which is big dark blotches on the face. Total strangers would ask what was on my forehead.

When I finally got the right RX for the BCP, I was moving into menopause.

Wow. I never thought about it before, but yeah, that’s the timing.

And I wanted to keep taking them to prevent hot flashes, but my doctor – a new doctor – read my chart and said, “ARE YOU NUTS? YOU’RE A MIGRAINEUR YOU CAN’T TAKE BCP YOU COULD HAVE A STROKE AND DIE!”

(Fortunately, we have solved the ED problem.)

What if there were a way to integrate tracking our periods with other health indicators?

You all know that Fitbit didn’t add a period tracker until 2018, right? And apparently, the company was a bit apprehensive about it.

Fitbit’s new smartwatch Versa isn’t being overtly marketed at women; doing that might alienate its male customers, who currently make up more than half of Fitbit’s user base

Just wondering if any genius at Fitbit might have seen the connection between men making up more than half of Fitbit’s user base and the fact that there had not been a period tracker.

When I said something to a male co-worker, a 61 year old, highly educated, very smart man married to a nurse – when I said something to him about the Fitbit as an example of bad product design because of a lack of diversity on the design team (I was working for an engineering company where in my office of 250 people, there were 17 women), he answered, “But isn’t a period every 28 days?”

Why would he even think that?

Whey would he think that a period comes every 28 days?

Maybe because that’s the only thing he ever learned about menstruation? That’s what he was told in his class in 6th grade when the boys and girls were separated for a few days of sex education?

And maybe a nod to menstruation in 10th grade biology?

Perhaps things have changed.

Perhaps kids these days are taught that periods do not come every 28 days – that the timing can vary. Perhaps they are taught that cramps do not have to be endured – that there are drugs and treatments to keep us from being in pain.

Maybe now, prescription painkillers for cramps doesn’t mean that you can’t get health insurance that covers diseases of the reproductive organs?

(Fortunately, we have solved the ED problem.)

Remember buying menstrual supplies, or, How much extra money do I have to spend to keep the clerk at Walgreen’s from seeing what I’m buying?

Remember when we cared what the clerk we had never met and would never see again thought about what we bought?

Remember when we would furtively stack M&Ms, diet Dr Pepper, a bottle of Suave Strawberry Essence shampoo (or maybe “Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific!”), and a few greeting cards on top of the Tampax?

It’s not like it even worked! The clerk eventually got to the bottom of the basket.

And the clerk did not care.

There are so many things that Mr T did and does right, but another indicator was the time I ran out of pads and didn’t want to leave the house and he went to the store for me.

And called me from the store to tell me the options and make sure he got the right one.

I asked if he minded getting menstrual supplies and he was puzzled.

“I bought them for my stepdaughters,” he answered. He didn’t understand why it was an issue or why any man would be bothered.

(Fortunately, we have solved the ED problem.)

Remember trying to hide the pads you carried to the ladies’ at work?

At my old job, in the Before Times, I kept a box of pads at my desk.

When I needed one, I took it out of the box and tucked it into my pocket.



Nope, I tucked it under my sleeve the way little old ladies tuck in their hankies or I rolled it into my hand and then casually walked to the bathroom.

I did not have the guts to let the men I worked with see what I was carrying.

(Fortunately, we have solved the ED problem.)

Remember being caught in public without a tampon?

I can’t even tell you how many times I searched desperately for a dime or a quarter so I could buy a tampon – only to find that the machine was empty.

I can’t even count the times I sighed as I rolled up a wad of toilet paper and stuck it in my underwear.

The only good thing about this kind of drama is that there is solidarity among women.

I was in the ladies’ room at the Field Museum in Chicago, along with a dozen other women. The machine was – of course it was – empty. As the woman tried to retrieve her quarter, every single one of us in the room with her opened our purses and started digging.

We will give you your tampon.

We will share our abundance.

We will not force you to resort to wadded-up toilet paper. (Which, for any men reading, does not really do the trick. It’s not absorbent enough and it doesn’t have hard edges, so the blood goes onto your underwear and your pants anyhow. It’s just not as much blood.)

(Fortunately, we have solved the ED problem.)

What if a positive pregnancy test wasn’t considered a bro joke?

Mailchimp wanted to be funny.

…the [MailChimp] team was brainstorming ideas for a 404 page. On the web, a 404 error means “page not found,” so a 404 page is where you’re redirected if you try to click a broken link. They usually say something like, “The page you are looking for does not exist.” But at the time, the team was really focused on developing a funny, unique for MailChimp. So they decided to call it an “oops” moment. Pretty soon, someone had designed a page showing a pregnancy test with a positive sign. Everyone thought it was hilarious.

Technically Wrong: Sexist Apps, Biased Algorithms, and Other Threats of Toxic Tech, Sara Wachter-Boettcher

(Fortunately, we have solved the ED problem.)

What if you weren’t afraid to mention hot flashes because you are worried people will think you are too old for your job but DAMN IT IS HOT IN HERE?

We do not have a satisfactory solution for hot flashes, a condition that can affect HALF OF THE WORLD’S POPULATION.


Half of us who are miserable and don’t know if this is going to last the rest of our lives and who can’t take certain drugs to stop the flashes because if you get migraines, you can’t take HRT so oh well I guess you’re screwed.

Yeah, there is another drug that migraineurs can take – the hot flash part was discovered by accident during research on another issue – but guess what?

That drug has the side effect of flushing.

Which is a fancy way of saying hot flashes.

The drug that I am taking to prevent hot flashes is giving me hot flashes.

But according to the pharmaceutical industry, my problem is not serious enough for research.

(Fortunately, we have solved the ED problem.)

When you piss off a hairdresser by asking if she is vaxxed and she cancels your appointment, which you have been anticipating for 16 months

(She was not, in fact, vaxxed)

You all remember I’ve been cutting my own hair, right?

I have not been highlighting it myself. Contrary to what history might teach us, I do sometimes learn from history and have left the chemicals alone.

Also, I am lazy.

Also, who was going to see my hair anyhow? I mean, besides Mr T and he is not judgy about my hair.

(However – when we first met, I was unemployed and I was highlighting my own hair. Mr T became quite proficient at pulling my hair through the cap with a crochet hook. He is a man of many talents.)

I have not been to a stylist since January 2020. And that was at SuperCuts because my – our – stylist retired in September 2021.

So more than a year since I have been to a salon.


Yes, I know I wrote an entire manifesto about no makeup, no clothes that hurt, etc, etc, etc.

But this is different.

I called the SuperCuts by me to see if their stylists were vaxxed.

“That’s private information!” the SuperCuts person said. “I can’t tell you that!”

So I @’d SuperCuts on Twitter.


I asked around on Facebook and everywhere one does and got the name of a hairdresser. I saw some of her work and it was good so I emailed her.

She seemed very nice – she gave me her prices and we set up an appointment.

Then I remembered I had forgotten to ask her if she was vaxxed. I am reading that it’s OK for two vaxxed people to be around each other but it seems that they are still not sure about a vaxxed person with an unvaxxed one.

The last thing I would want to do, after more than a year of being careful, would be to catch covid and then give it to someone else. There are people who cannot get the vax and children can’t get the vax, so we are not out of the woods yet.

“Oh! I forgot to ask you!” I emailed. “Are you vaxxed?”

I thought this was a pro-forma question – that of course she would be vaxxed after all she works putting her hands on people and being right in their faces.

Plus it is very very easy to get the vax where we live.

She wrote back,

I’m surprised you asked as that is personal information…? But since you did ask, I am not. I will cancel your appointment 


Pretty much everyone else in my circles is vaxxed or vaxxing. We talk about. We celebrate it. It is a common topic of conversation.

Even at work, we talk about it. (I mean, online.)

I replied politely that of course I understood – that I would not want to risk infecting her.

Then I wrote to a salon by me. I had written to them before, asking for pricing, and got the reply that I needed to call because each stylist set her own prices. That made me cranky – why would anyone ever call on the phone now that email and messaging exist?

I wrote, “Hi! Are your stylists vaccinated? With the data still not clear on if vaxxed people can give covid to unvaxxed people, I am not taking any chances – I couldn’t live with myself if I gave it to someone. Thanks!”

Within an hour, I had an answer.

Hi! We have 2 hairstylist and they both are fully vaccinated as of this week it has been 2 weeks since their 2nd dose. We have been re opened since May 2020 and all three of us have been taking this virus serious and none of us got Covid! We are very proud of that. We have made many changes to our salon to make it safer. We don’t use a front desk. Was he one of us have our own checkout at our stations. That was a huge change!

I replied that I had asked that question of another stylist, who had cancelled my appointment.

Oh wow. I feel it is every business to answer every persons concerns and questions. Especially over something so important.

I have found my new salon.

I don’t care what they charge.

(OK, I care a little bit, but now that I am cutting Mr T’s hair, I can keep doing that and save the $40 or $50 it would cost every six weeks for his cut.)

And to those who suggested I should ask the question more tactfully – “What are your covid protocols?” – I say nah. I have been doing some completely unscientific testing and the only people who have been offended at this question are unvaxxed people who are choosing to be unvaxxed.

And I don’t want anything to do with them.