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Because You Ducking Deserve It

Duck is relaxing in sunglasses, with the fuzzy tail of a sleeping rainbow caticorn as his pillow
Duck relaxing on our sleeping rainbow caticorn


When I first saw the love of my life, Peacock Riley, they were on-stage singing opera. I was a lovestruck duck, a feather-ruffled Romeo, a bird swept up on the ocean of love. “Riley’s the One, ” I thought to myself. “They’re the bird of my ducking dreams.”

But once Riley’s song was done, I told myself, “Who are you kidding? You’re not good enough for a peacock like that.”

And you know what? This duck was wrong. I was super-ducking awesome and a perfect match for Riley. That’s not to say I should have stalked them. Riles gets far too many boxes of chocolate-covered beetles from absolute strangers, as it is. But things between us would have happened naturally if I’d just sent Riley that LinkedIn invitation.

It took me two ducking years to press the “Invite” button.

And that, ducks, is the lesson of self-esteem.

Why the duck do I bring up this personal story now? Because it's really ducking hard to feel like we're deserving of all good things during a ducking pondemic. But we really quacking are.

So, here's what this self-loving Duck has to say:

• You are deserving of safety,

• You are deserving of love,

• You are deserving of support,

• You are deserving of moisturized flippers,

• You are deserving of that cup of pondweed tea you're craving,

• You are deserving of a ducking hour off,

• You are deserving of being called what you want to be called,

• You are deserving of a nice hot shower,

• You are deserving of a goldfish sandwich [if you're a human, please don't eat your or anyone else's goldfish—Star],

• You are deserving of being who you are and having others respect that,

• You are deserving of being spoken to and treated like an actual duck/human—including by those gossipy tadpoles I met yesterday. Because really, the cheek of it.

Also, you are a gift to the ducking the world, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Back to my bathtub I go.

Over and out,



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