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Karen

Mostly True Memoirs

Karen

KAREN

I told the Grown Son that I don’t like his use of the term “Karen.”

It’s insulting.

Our next-door neighbor is Karen.

And she’s lovely.

The Grown Son confirmed that next-door Karen is not a Karen.

And neither am I.

He assured me, however, that I am still annoying, even if I’m not a Karen.

By the time he got through his long-winded, backhanded compliment, I had stopped listening.

I had also stopped caring.

Does that make me a Karen?

Whatever.

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