The Bill of My Rights

I, the Maggie, in order to form a more perfect life, establish bylaws and expectations to ensure my peace and tranquility.

Okay, so I know that's a broad re-interpretation of the Preamble to the Constitution, but I had to start somewhere. As we approach Independence Day, it's got me thinking about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and if we're going to do that, shouldn't we have some sort of guidelines for ourselves?

Good, I thought you'd agree. So without further ado, I give you ...

Maggie's Bill of Rights
I have the right to fashion. Whether from Goodwill or some chichi boutique, I can dress fabulously. And don't even get me started on the accessories! I certainly have the right to great jewelry, the occasional shoe splurge, and a handbag that makes me weep.

I have the right to music. Life has a soundtrack. I have a themesong. I march to the beat of several different drummers, depending on my mood. Music is my birthright.

I have the right to a clean and comfortable home. Which means I have the responsibility to clean it. Or pay someone else to do it. But my surroundings should be serene and beautiful.

I have the right to great friends. Screw the very idea of having a bunch of n'er-do-wells in my life; it is my right to have a small but mighty group of friends with whom to share my heart, as they share theirs with me. It is my right to collect a precious few who will tell me I look fat in that, share my need for chocolate and plot world domination.

I have the right to drink red wine with fish. Or white wine with steak. Or whatever the hell strikes my fancy. They are my tastebuds, dammit, and I will treat them however I wish.

I have the right to date. It's been a few years, and I keep thinking to myself "you can't date, you're still married." Even when I asked a guy out (he said yes, but we just never connected) I had that weird feeling that somehow I was doing something WRONG because technically, I am still married. It's time to get over the bullcrap; the high road does not mean that I must deny myself the pleasure of male company.

I have the right to enjoy life. Every part of it - my job, my workouts, my social life, my friends and family ... and at the best of times, it all overlaps. Care to come along and hang with my friends at the gym?

I have the right to vacation. Whether it's Disney World, Vegas, camping or hanging out at home pretending to be at a spa, I get to take them. I also have the right to send postcards, or just decide not to, so don't get your hopes up.

I have the right to good beer. Do not come near me with Budweiser, unless we're pre-boiling brats.

I have the right to establish more rights. 'nuf said.