I realize Phyllis Diller’s whole shtick was this caricature — the wild hair, the hideous clothes, the cackle, the anti-perfection of it all. But I came across this picture from Feb. 10, 1987, and it felt… so very now. This is the image of my soul. I am just a girl, standing in front of the universe in the middle of her house with hair that hasn’t been properly tended in more than a year and wearing whatever the hell she can find that fits, asking it to love her… or at the very least stop with this effing pandemic bullshit.
