Sometimes, I don’t feel like playing by the rules. My acts of rebellion aren’t often spurred by strong convictions. I don’t break into laboratories and free test animals or tie myself naked to trees (at least this is what I assume the real rebels of the world do). My actions are not a cry for attention.

There are acts of rebellion caused by impatience. If you make me wait at a bar for longer than 20 minutes to get a drink, I will go behind the bar and just get the bottle of champagne I want for myself. And, even though I was only seeking a glass of champagne, in the time I am forced to wait, my thirst will grow stronger, thus increasing my need to have the whole bottle.

There are acts of rebellion caused by laziness. When no one tells me to bring my free tickets to the John Hancock building in Chicago, there’s no way I’m going back to the hotel to get them. Guess I’m making a run for it the second the person leading the tour turns their back. Nestled in between tons of tourist, I make my way to the top.

Or, there are times when I act out against authority, because I think the authority figure is a complete moron. I was one of the yearbook editors my senior year of high school and we had this teacher whose name I’ve forgotten, probably because she could never get mine; she called me Diane the entire semester which I’m pretty sure was just some weird power play. As editors, we got our hands on the photos that were to be used for the yearbook. There was one photo in particular, which was a great shot of me and some of my friends.

There were a few versions of the photo so after we decided which one to include in the yearbook, the rest were of no use. When I told the teacher I was going to take the photo home and frame it, she told me there was no way I could do that. When I questioned why, they were just going to get thrown out otherwise, she told me that it wouldn’t be fair to the other twelve girls in the photo. If I got a photo, they would all demand one as well. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t. They most likely would never have even know. Mrs. Whatever took the photo and with me watching, threw it in the garbage. Well, I may have lost the battle, but I’m still in this war. When the bell rang and Mrs. Whatever’s back was turned, I reached into that garbage, and got my photo.

The Forbidden Photo

 I sat in my history class later that day, and suddenly, there was a tapping on our closed door. Mrs. Whatever was up against the glass pane and with an evil look in her eyes gave me a wicked witch “come hither” finger movement.

Not only did she pull me out of class and tell me to return the picture immediately, she told me just what kind of person I was. I was completely dishonest (which isn’t fully true since I admitted right away to taking the picture and technically, I never lied about it). I’ll never forget how she somehow linked me taking this photo to a prophecy for my future – I would be dishonest and therefore my future marriage was doomed. My husband would never trust me. She made a few more harsh predictions and then probably put a curse on me. I wish I would have responded by saying that if she wanted me to be honest, I thought she was bat shit crazy and she’ll never even have a husband to be dishonest to!  Of course I said nothing of the sort because I can’t handle confrontation. Sadly, I lost this war.

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