Hippie-ki-yay

When I was in 3rd grade, my sister Mona was in 6th grade. A boy in her class saw me in the lunch room and told me I looked like a hippie.
   I went home and asked Mona and my mom "what's a hickey?" [Sic.]
   My mother, suspicious and displeased, asked me why I asked, so I recounted the lunch room encounter. We soon worked out the source of the confusion — or at least, the source of her confusion, because at the end I was still confused about a) what a hickey is b) why looking like a hippie is bad.
   Whether Mona knew a) what a hickey is I can't say. (If she did she (like Mom) wasn't interested in clarifying it for me.) I can say with some confidence, however, that Mona was not confused about b) why looking like a hippie is bad: she was mortified that young Mr. White had found my look remarkable and asked our mother if something couldn't be done about my appearance.

Anyway, here is the first in a potential series of how hippie I am.
   I never use the microwave: All my food is warmed or re-warmed on the stove or in the oven. I have not used the microwave since August 2012.
   I don't have any studies to cite about whether the microwave is bad for your food, but I operate as though it is. (Go ahead. Call me a kook. Or — even better — a cook!) I do believe that avoiding the microwave is a big fat deal in moving away from convenience as the deciding factor in food choices. When convenience is king, health suffers.

In case you were wondering, I received clarification about a) what a hickey is when I was in 5th grade. A girl in my class, Heather Scot, invited all the cool girls into the bathroom and took out a red ink stamp-pad and said let's make ourselves look like we have hickeys. I took the opportunity to ask what a hickey is, and Heather took the opportunity (as I thought she would) to tell me.
   I've also figured out some reasons people might have for b) why looking like a hippie is bad, but Jimmy crack corn.