I’d never worn a Member’s Only Jacket before because I wasn’t a member. And I certainly didn’t need another group to pay dues to. The Williard Library Ghost Chatters was expensive enough.

I wanted to wear one of course. They looked so comfy and so stylish. And it is such a key component of Florida retiree chic, which is so in right now. So maybe you’re like me and think you just have to deny yourself the fashionable treat that is that lovely jacket because it is for the privileged few. I’m going to let you folks in on something: you don’t have to be a member to own one. In fact, there’s not even a club. You can just go to the store and buy one, no questions asked. Try it; I’m being serious.

I tell you this to empower you. People have been oppressed long enough, fooled into thinking they can’t have something because they are not in some exclusive organization. You want to eat a sandwich with three pieces of toast, bacon, and turkey? Go ahead. You don’t have to be in a club for that either. You can drink club soda too. No card, no secret handshake, nothing. Just chug, chug, chug.

Discovering this freedom set me on a life-living binge that had my lips glistening with bacon, had me downing glass after glass of Hawaiian Hooker, and had me wearing a hip item of clothing that is great to wear when there is a cool breeze.

I thought I was done, had it out of my system. But sitting at a café, sipping some hot cocoa, I saw a sign for the Farmer’s Market. How freaking unfair I thought! Didn’t our founding fathers put together some choice documents that laid out the fact that all men were created equal and that we all had rights? And now this market decides to be elitist and only allow one class of people to shop there? Bullshit. I wasn’t going to let this happen.

I was pissed, my friends. I threw down the cocoa (accidentally burning a dog’s face). I ignored the owner’s yelling and cursing and walked out to that holier than thou market outside.

I stormed right up to one of the vendors, grabbed a bunch of carrots, threw them down on the table, and said, “You know what? I’m going to buy these motherfucking carrots, and I am not even close to being a farmer. How do you like that?”

I thought that the woman selling them would put up a fight. I thought she might point to my non-overalls attire and my hatless head and say she was sorry, leaving me no choice but to fight for the rights of non-farmers everywhere. Instead, she just squinted as if she were trying to figure out if I was real. I sure am, missy! She mumbled something and put my carrots in a bag.

You see, if you let these bullies push around, they will. Forever. But if you stand up to them, they crumble like a milk-soaked cookie in the rain.

I went on to claim everything for you and me and us. I was fighting for the common man. (And the broads, too.) I performed a Chinese fire drill right in front of everybody. Note: I am not the least bit Chinese. I’m German/Irish, baby! Next up, I bought some carpenter ants and stole myself a pet cat that belonged to a teacher. I gave myself athlete’s foot (and readers, I am about as athletic as a crash test dummy), got me some plumber’s butt, and gave out Indian burns. I did it all, and it was incredible. It was like breaking out of prison and stumbling into a bordello. What a difference!

So I challenge each and every one of you to break apart these social boundaries that have been holding you back. Don’t limit yourself. Don’t be tied down by your economic status, your nationality, your occupation -- none of it. We can all share and experience the glorious gifts that await the brave. I toast all of you with the courage, with a clink of a glassful of Hawaiian Hooker. Damn, is it good!