Freda and War

Today is Freda’s day. I’m going to take a slightly different take on her than is normal: when you think of Freda, think of war.

Earlier this year, I was grappling with the fact that I am intended to marry Freda. When we talk about her, we conceptualize a pretty, helpless very feminine woman in pink, and I honestly was having trouble with that. In my dreams, she is a devastatingly beautiful, petite woman with caramel skin in old money clothes—the kind that easily cost $50k but telegraph only the idea of exquisite secrets. She says nothing, merely stands beside me and I know we should be together.

What lwa is helpless? I was honestly worried. I can be hard on people, and really hard on people who seem so fragile.

I pause here for laughter, from people who know Freda.

I aired a bit of my discomfort to Papa on this topic, and he interrupted me to say “think of her as a general.”

As I learn a bit more about her, I tend to agree. She appears to be happy to let other people get their hands dirty—and quite content to let people maim themselves on their own stupidity, for her amusement—and she’s dangerous as hell. She is brilliant, watchful, and wastes neither time nor effort.

So when you think of her, in her fabulous clothing and gold jewelry, just remember that the general’s uniform is also quite expensive. The general might not shoot you herself, but she will watch your execution without a drop of sweat.