YOU CAN TAKE MY GUACAMOLE, BUT YOU CAN’T TAKE MY FREEDOM

Guns Aren’t to Blame, Blame Guacamole

I’m not surrendering my avocados

I was eating a taco this weekend and guacamole squirted into my husband's beautiful face. It was brutal. I was like, holy shit, guacamole is dangerous as hell. But, I’m not giving up my guacamole just because it hit my husband’s stupid mug. He could have moved his face. He could have held up his tortilla.

The thing about guacamole is I’m a Texan and if I didn’t eat guacamole my whole life, I’d weigh about 47 pounds. Avocados transformed into guacamole are keeping me alive. I can see why people want to blame avocados for all the guacamole in America, but you need to settle down, people. You can’t spell America without guacamole.

At home, I make guacamole day and night. I keep guacamole in the bedroom in a small unlocked frig in case someone sneaks up when I'm sleeping and needs a snack. I keep guacamole in my glove compartment because, you know, traffic.

I know some people don’t get it, but I understand the need to make guacamole outside the house, in public places where there are a lot of people. This is America. Who doesn’t like a little guac?

I’m a woman of the people. I understand feeding the achingly hungry human heart. I haven’t always been happy. I didn’t get to marry the man I wanted. I didn’t get the jobs I applied for. I wasn't always as thin as people who live in yoga studios. One of my boobs is a teensy bit bigger than the other which is very hard for someone as OCD as me. I could go all guac, but I’m okay. I’m calm. I’m good people with guacamole.

I had a teacher hit on me once and if I remember it correctly, he pushed me up against a wall — but I was so naughty nobody believed me. It made me feel mad, isolated, and maybe a little postal. I wanted to make some guacamole and bring it to him, but I didn’t. I went home and made the shit out of some guacamole for myself. I made so many bowls of it I had to set them on the floor. What a party.

You should have seen the size of the chips I used to eat all that guacamole. One chip could hold half a pound of guac. It made me feel like a fucking God. You think a therapist or a yoga spa meditation windchime is going to calm me down as much as homemade guacamole? I don’t fucking think so.

People weren't always nice to me. There was this communist in my high school who called me the dirtbag girl. I have no idea why, but it hurt down to my essence-of-piss Corona.

Whenever I saw my bully in the halls, I walked over to my locker and dove my face into the guacamole I kept stored in the Tupperware container in my backpack. Holding the container empowered me. Tasting the guacamole made me feel like no one could touch me.

There was this rich girl who used to kick my ass in track meets. She hated me. I don’t know why. Whenever she beat me, I died a little inside because I was fast but she was always faster. The only thing that killed my pain was a round of guacamole and chips. She ended up marrying the guy I wanted, living my life, getting my job.

Who knows what I would have done if I hadn’t gone home and gobbled up that guacamole every time she took something that belonged to me? If I didn’t have the guac, I might have forgiven her, or tried another sport or gotten a therapist or a hobby. Why would I do that though, knowing there is guacamole in the world?

I once got fired from a job for not showing up. It’s not fair it doesn’t always go my way. Firing me seemed like overkill. Luckily, it was a Walmart and I took some processed guacamole with me when I left. I might go back and share it with them, but I’m okay for now. It’s got preservatives so it can last for years. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

I’m the youngest of seven kids, which means everybody bosses me around and infantilizes me. We could all be 90 years old and my siblings would still treat me like I don’t know how to mash up avo, mix in the lime, perfectly cut the tomatoes, and chop onions without a tear in my eye. I could feel small and irrelevant because of that, but that’s why I’ve always got my guac with me.

I keep guacamole around in case my family goes too far. I’m okay for now because guac exists, but one day it may not be enough to eat it alone. One day, I might have to bring them a bowl and show them how delicious my recipe tastes.

Somedays, I feel like I live in that Twilight Zone where the artwork is melting in the window because the sun is moving closer to the earth. And everybody is so goddamn angry, hateful, and violent. Nobody is getting the same news on our dumb smart TVs because we live in a time of spin. So what? I eat too much guacamole. Is that really such a shitty vice?

Today, I turned on my TV and my own political party is saying guacamole is to blame for all the shootings lately. I didn’t want to believe it. But then I did extensive research on Fox and Friends for two minutes and it was 200% true that guns don’t kill people, guacamole does. Guns are like unicorns and rainbows. Guacamole is Satan.

I had been so selfish, loving up my guacamole. But the way the NRA put it, I’d been misled, conspired against. I love guacamole, but I’m better than that. I’m giving it up. I might get grumpy because I won’t be able to eat the pain that only an avocado can heal, but as long as I still have my gun, I’ll be okay.

The government says it’s gonna take away all of our avocados, no questions asked. They’re gonna make guacamole to feed to shithole countries. That seems fair. I only care about this country and that’s why I want to protect our guns from guacamole.

The main thing the pundits said was we need to get the guacamole out of our school lunchrooms. I get it. Just as long as my kid can carry a gun, I’m willing to sacrifice my delicious snack to protect my Second Amendment.