I am Karen

I am what I am. I don't want praise, I don't want pity. 
I bang my own drum―some think it's noise, I think it's pretty.

― Jerry Herman

Women friends of mine, their names notwithstanding, are upset "Karen" has become a pejorative.

By one definition, a Karen is a "quintessential white woman who rocks an edgy, highlighted bob and demands to speak to the manager."

She’s entitled, assertive, and prone to public tantrums, fueled by an ingrained fear she could readily be victimized. And she has a “Live, Laugh, Love” placard, probably in her kitchen.

Well, I don't have a placard, but I'm here to tell you I am Karen.

I won't yell at the store manager or call the cops because you're Black. 

But―no matter your color―I will erupt when you:

• Abandon your cart in the checkout line
• Park your goddamned SUV in a handicapped space
• Go without a mask in the hardware store
• Let your doberman run without a leash 
• Smack your kids across the face
• Litter 
• Pitch me your cheesy software on LinkedIn 
• Bill my credit card without asking 
• Charge me $800 for a $100 dental procedure
• Fly the Confederate flag
• Imply Blacks, Latinos or Asians are inferior to Whites
• Disparage Gays
• Praise Ayn Rand, or 
• Insist Donald Trump is a good businessman, president, or human being

I make no excuses: I am what I am.

I am Karen.