Life Deserves a Skunk Day

In sixth grade, teachers looked at us like we were atom bombs about to go off. If we gave a slightly frowny expression, counselors told us to just say no to self harm and that it gets better, somewhere in between your chicken nugget lunch and marathon Bingo games. While it was slightly bothersome to be treated as a repairable machine rather than a human being with highs and lows, the height of adolescence did gain quite a bit of pity. Teachers perfected what we call "the concerned look": the raised eyebrows, the softened eyes, the "tut tut," followed by "why don't you just go sit down for a bit, hun?" I appreciated what these teachers did to put a pool in hell, but what really stuck out to me was music class.

Jester, I think her name was, though she was too kind to jest by any means. She was new enough to believe that twelve year olds could neither mess with minds, nor take advantage. She had two small skunk statues in the classrooms. These were magical skunks. They allowed you to tell the world "fuck off, I'm having a bad day" without having to actually use such obscenities. If Jester saw you with a skunk on your desk, she wouldn't ask you to participate. I'm not sure if she caught on that people tend to have bad days when the exam rolls around, but nevertheless, the skunks never left the classroom. When I felt particularly growly towards the world, or my acne was seeking revenge after being covered up by expensive makeup, I would grab a skunk, lose myself in some Cheetah Girls books (I was a weird kid), and all would be right with the world.

So why did this skunkiness disappear after middle school? Do people just stop having bad days when you go to big kid classes and get a real, "suit-up" big kid job? Sure, those around you expect that you have the maturity level to deal with less-than-fabulous-moments, and that a bad mood won't effect that happy/smiley/I love people all the time person the world knows and loves.

I would admit (or hope) that I'm more mature than I was in sixth grade (here is the part where you give me a reassuring pat and tell me "sure, sure you are..."), but there are times when I'm particularly pissed off at the world, and I'm just like:

Touch me, human, and you die.

So here's my proposal: The world should have a skunk day. No matter how old you are, how far past the hellish days of middle school you've gotten, you too deserve a skunk day. Maybe, since the whole world seems to have an iPhone, there can be a skunk app that you just flash at people when you just can't. even. talk. anymore. You may be allowed two skunk days per month, so choose wisely! I mean, sure, one can call in sick to work and cuddle up with a good book instead, but it would do us all a whole lot of good to be honest, call up our bosses and say "hey, you know what? Today's a skunk day." I mean, can that become a socially acceptable thing? I feel like the world would be a whole lot healthier if that were the case, because when we ignore our skunk days, this happens:

And that's just not cool, man.
Okay, it's a little cool. But people die because of skunk days! I mean, imagine if Hitler was given the opportunity to reflect on his emotions; he could have stayed home and reveled in some self-pity on the day he decided to become a mass-murdering fuckhead. Maybe that skunk day would've given him the opportunity to paint something peaceful and see everything beautiful in the world.

Okay, maybe not. It was a gradual process, I know. But I'm just saying, socially-acceptable pity days are good for the soul. Just as long as they're not every day.

Have a sad skunk day, everyone, and a happy all-the-rest-of-the-days!

Namaste.