Its never just one roach.

A few days ago a friend and I took our sweater-clad dogs for a brisk walk around our neighborhood. A good walk is one of my favorite activities and walking with someone who’s company I enjoy helped offset the sting of my nose and cheeks in the frigid temperature. She shared with me that her cousin, who was about our age, had passed away recently. At the funeral the woman’s friends had personalized the service to celebrate the life of the woman they had known her to be. Each of them poured a bit of glitter into the casket that held their bling-loving friend, presumably so she could maintain her sparkle through eternity. It’s a sweet sentiment. I asked that should I go first, I’d like my friends to please cover me in something more environmentally-friendly. We joked that the glitter would likely last longer than her body and if future civilizations ever came across her cousin’s bones covered in micro-glitter, they might mistake her for a queen. I think her friends would be happy with that conception.

The idea bounced around in my head for a few days, partly because a sparkly skeleton is a powerful visual, and partly because it’s not outside of the realm of possibilities. Who knows what civilizations 10,000 years from now will think about us? That’s the thing about symbols, they are subject to different interpretations depending on who’s doing the analysis. It’s possible that a few thousand years from now, the illustrious twinkle of that glitter might be translated differently than we understand it today, but there’s no way to know what that difference might be until we get there.

Humanity has made a lot of symbols. I’m not sure if that’s unique to our species. I would bet that it isn’t. However, I am fairly certain that there isn’t a lot of crossover. If an old crow showed up on my doorstep with a shiny diamond ring, I’m not going to assume he’s proposing marriage. I know a crow doesn’t understand the symbolism.

A fellow human is another thing all together. Honestly, I’d probably think they’d arrived at the wrong house, but I’d also expect that the ring means the same thing to both of us. The symbolism of a diamond ring is ubiquitous in my culture. What I’m saying is if a man got down on his knee and presented me with a ring but didn’t intend marriage, he doesn’t have a lot of room to act like I’m the idiot for assuming his ambition. And it’s perfectly rational to predict some intense emotions will surround the event. It would reasonable to feel outrage, maybe disappointment, certainly shock. Luckily, I live in America where I am free to say no to proposals I don’t want.

A diamond ring means what it means until an alternate explanation is offered. Our shared meaning of kneeling with a ring is so clear, he’d have a hard time convincing me he meant anything else without exposing himself as oblivious to and uneducated about society’s functions. In fact, I’d probably assume any alternate explanation was just an attempt to save face after his unsolicited proposal was rejected.

Is it clear what I am really talking about here? I hope it is. The boys are back in town. Or rather, they’ve crawled out of their hidey-holes now that they feel safety in numbers. I don’t normally like to perpetuate an us vs. them mindset, but in this case I make an exception. I’m confident there are more of us.

I am not fooled by the post-salute justifications. I am unconvinced that enough time has passed for it’s meaning to have changed shape. Until people are free to rock that stupid little mustache he ruined, the salute he used to rile his army of sociopaths is also off the table. And it’s probably going to remain that way while he’s still the most common answer to Who’s the worst person who’s ever lived? Disregarding the ideological associations with that salute proves one to be either malicious or incompetent with no in between. We don’t need a debate.

What we do need to do is reject the proposal. Say no. No, you can’t have access to our hiring records. I think they all got erased accidentally. Nope, I don’t know anyone by that name that lives around here. Maybe try two towns over? I don’t think I will talk to you about the genitalia in my neighbors pants. Your insistent curiosity is creeping me out. And no, the people who scaled the Capitol walls and shit on Nancy’s desk were not “fine.” As long as I am here to remember that the way it really happened, I don’t intend to let you forget.

I’m discouraged that we have to fight this fight again, but it’s not a surprise. History promises they always return, but it also teaches us their egos are fragile, their minds are small, and given the right circumstances they’ll eat each other alive. Maybe all we need to do is chum the water.