I never thought I’d say this, but Beyoncé, I have a bone to pick with you.
I know that you have no idea who I am, a middling Canadian writer thousands of miles away. I have nowhere near the name recognition that you do, obviously. And no, my schedule is nowhere near as busy as yours, but nonetheless, I do have stuff going on, you know?
I just moved, for example. And I’m not sure if you’re aware of how that works for regular people like me, but for us, moving means touching every single thing you own (which, granted, isn’t nearly as many things as you own) and putting each of those things in boxes and then lifting those boxes with our own arms and putting them into a truck and then driving that truck by ourselves to our new place (which, by the way, is probably like 1 percent of the size of your house) and then unloading everything again and unpacking it.
I mean, Bey, it’s a whole process.
I also have a daughter — 4-year-old. And I know that you have a daughter too, but I’m a single mom. That means no Jay to help out. No nannies, either. Just me!
Of course I also work and volunteer, plus I have to cook my own goddamn meals like a chump. And If you’re reading this like, “Whoa Madeleine, that sounds like some real bullshit,” you’re completely right because I mean, I’m a good cook, but I don’t like cooking, you know? It’s boring and requires planning and grocery shopping and I have to do it multiple times a day. Don’t get me started on the cleanup, Yoncé, because I am not a tidy cook.
Anyway! I digress.
The point of this long-winded rant is that I. Do. Not. Have. Time to decipher your baby hints anymore.
Look, someone had to say it. I ain’t sorry.
I was there for it in the beginning. I picked up the pink/blue bra and underwear meaning. I gamely guessed at why you were wearing so much green. But this weekend broke me, Beyoncé.
I was taking care of my daughter, obvs. And I moved houses, as I already told you. But then my brother and his wife had a new baby (a healthy little boy named Alastair if you are wondering and/or looking for some name inspo) and so I made the three-hour drive to their city to meet the little guy, my very first nephew.
And then, in between all of this parenting and moving furniture and driving (and driving myself no less, because I don’t have a chauffeur) you drop this little gem:
I was excited initially. And then? Then you and this Instagram video totally ruined my weekend.
While soaking up time with my nephew, I found myself feverishly wondering what the hell kind of flowers those were. While I watched my daughter playing with her new cousin, I was thinking about how much research I’d have to do to find out the significance of the dress color and the music and the rings you are showing off in this photomontage.
Because there is some significance, isn’t there? We know you don’t just pick things because they’re pretty. We know better than to take your photos at face value.
And before, I was into it. Before this weekend, I thought it was kind of a fun little mystery to be picking up the clues you were putting down. Following the breadcrumbs to find the truth, unraveling the symbolism and layers of meaning behind your words and dresses and jewelry.
But Bey, I’m tired. I‘m tired and I’m done. I just can’t anymore. I have a life! I have too much shit going on to be doing this much recon. So I guess what I’m saying is that I’m formally throwing in the towel. I’m retiring my magnifying glass. I’m giving up.
When you post another picture, I think I’ll just look at it and remark, “What a lovely photo of Ms. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter,” and I’ll ignore the colors and I’ll ignore the background imagery and I’ll ignore absolutely everything short of a neon sign blinking out a due date and gender reveal.
I think it’s just better for everyone this way.