Now Playing: She’s in Parties by Bauhaus 

So the medical group I go to asked if I wanted to take part in a DNA study to check for inherited traits and health risks. 

Sure, why not? They drew blood (no spitting in a tube like I was gearing up for a 23andMe llama audition), and a week or so later, voilà!, a personality roast courtesy of my genome.

What they got right:

• Curly hair? ✅ You got me. Wildly so. Apparently I received genes from both parents on that score.
• Blue eyes? ✅ Check. (They guessed blue or green. Mom: blue. Dad: greenish/hazel. Me: blue.) 
• Short? ✅ Hovering right at 5’4″, which is technically average for American women but let’s be real, in the world of high shelves and concert crowds, it’s short. Dammit.
  
• Freckles? ✅ Oh yes. My face used to burst into a full confetti cannon of freckles every summer, and my arms in particular still carry the speckled story.
  
• Power athlete? What does that even mean? Word Raccoon and I both know I’ve got power, thank you very much. Literary, emotional, poetic, maybe even mutant-level when I’ve had Coke Zero. But athletic power? Hahahahaha! Or is that a TBD?? WR insists I must claim it, whatever it means. 

She wants it. The Raccoon always gets her way.

What they got wrong (and WR cackled):

• Don’t like cilantro? Excuse you. I love cilantro. We are in a relationship.
  
• Don’t like chocolate or sweets? Oh honey. Just ask the Snickers wrappers in my purse.
• No endurance?  I ran half marathons, plural. So yes, I can outrun your nonsense, slowly but determinedly, at least in my mind nowadays. So says Word Raccoon, who is insulted. Shall she list the things she has endured? What, that’s not what you mean? Oh. 

There were other “insights,” some also wrong, some I’ve never tested and they are ridiculous and I’m not even going to mention them, a couple probably right but I’m not going to acknowledge them either, such as I don’t need lots of caffeine. (Which I guess I just mentioned.)

Word Raccoon growled when she heard that. “It’s not need, it’s want.” That’s the fuel she runs on. How are we supposed to write whenever we want if we don’t use caffeine? And yes, WR and I are aware that some people can run on sheer charm and literary wit alone. But we prefer a little chemical romance in the bloodstream, thanks.

Then they said we are early risers. We ARE, but that we’ve trained ourselves for. Our first year of college we chose classes that all began at noon or later so we could sleep in, much to our roommate’s consternation, because we slept as late as possible. 

The next semester she and I took an 8 a.m. speech class together. Not sure how she talked me into that, but clever of her. 

Thank god the professor was hilarious and not scary at all because I had to give speeches at 8 freaking a.m. while a terrified first-year student. But I got ‘er done and sadly, that was the only class I ever took with my roommate since she was not an English major. 

Health stuff:
Negative across the board. Whew. Always nice to get a clean slate from the tiny inner lab coats. They tested for several important conditions and diseases. While there are no guarantees, I can rest easy on all of the fronts they tested for. Probably? Because if they thought I didn’t like chocolate…

Ancestry:
Broadstrokes only, no familial connections work done. Western European, mostly British and Scots-Irish. Nothing shocking there. I already knew this, but I appreciated the confirmation that I’m made of teabags, rainclouds, melancholy fiddle music, and the occasional bar fight in verse form. Are we surprised? If you knew of my fiery maternal grandmother, you’d know this tracks. 

So, I guess Word Raccoon and I are mostly healthy, moderately magical, and just in part genetically misunderstood. Word Raccoon wants to frame the results while eating a Snickers bar and drinking a Coke Zero. (Except Snickers are not dairy free. Dang it.)

You know, I really ought to look into getting sponsored by CZ. But then I’m already poetically sponsored, aren’t I?