Me: How are you doing? A little nervous?
Her: Yeah.
Me: Is it because you’ve never been to a march before?
Her: Yeah.
Me: Does it help to know that I haven’t either?
Her: Really?
Me: I never felt like I had to before.

I finished knitting around midnight and put the hat on my head. It looked ridiculous. I figured I’d take it anyway and maybe give it away. The next morning my daughter encouraged me to wear it. Pictures came in from all over the world: a sea of pink. I live in a small blue dot in a very big red state. It feels lonely sometimes. Today it did not.

Lots of people are uncomfortable with the name of this hat. However enough people were comfortable electing a man who uses it to the highest office in our country. I did a quick search on Facebook for the word vulgar. It’s amazing how many Trump supporters did not like women using the word pussy today. I can’t quite figure that out.

This week I heard something on the radio that has stuck with me: marches don’t change policy, but they create a movement, they start a conversation. I like that. And I’m glad I wore my #Pussyhat.

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