When I Feel Naughty Robin Updated Online

When I feel naughty, Robin, it is not a loud or violent thing. There is no devil on my shoulder wielding a pitchfork, no sinister laugh echoing in my ears. Instead, it is a quiet, thrilling rustle—like the sudden wingbeat of a bird trapped inside a sunlit room. It is the moment the perfectly ironed corners of my afternoon begin to fray, and I want nothing more than to pull the loose thread.

Feeling naughty, for me, begins as a sensory rebellion. It is the urge to run my finger along a dusty shelf just to watch the streak. It is the desire to eat dessert before dinner, not out of hunger, but because the order of things feels too much like a cage. Yesterday, for example, I stood in front of the refrigerator with the door open for a full minute, letting the cold air spill out onto the kitchen floor. The thermostat clicked in protest. I smiled. when i feel naughty robin

That is what I am offering when I feel naughty, Robin. Not anarchy, but a pause. A chance to be the bird, not the cage. So the next time you see me putting the toilet paper roll on the holder the wrong way, or adding a dash of hot sauce to the cookies, do not reach for the scolding. Reach for the spoon. Taste the chaos. After all, the rulebook never said you couldn’t have just a little fun with the margins. When I feel naughty, Robin, it is not