I saw her once. It was a moment so brief, yet so powerful.

I was in Bangkok, waiting to cross the street on Pradipat Road. There she was, riding backseat of a motorcycle. One hand was clutched to her dashing male companion with amazing abs (the details are a bit foggy nowadays), the other held none other than: a chicken wing. As the two passed me, she managed to finish that wing in lightning speed and toss the bone on the street. I gasped in amazement. Who was this woman that I wanted to bow down and give all my respect to? Where did such liberation come from? How could I get on HER LEVEL? That Thai woman gave zero f***s that day because she was living the dream–she had a bag of poultry’s best offerings on her lap, a beautiful man to guide her through the city, and the kind of confidence that made me question everything.

On that day, Thai Chicken Wing Woman became one of my greatest heroes. Inspired by Janelle Monae’s “Q.U.E.E.N.,” a new life mantra was birthed through two hashtags:

Today I pay tribute to the chicken’s ulna, humerus, radius, hinge joint, and all the meaty goodness attached. Yes, I’m turning on the overdramatic meter to max.

Chicken wings represent the respect I have for the living things I eat. This Buzzfeed article expressed one of the most disrespectful acts of this world. If you are guilty of this, I implore you to reconsider eating bone-in, traditional wings. You don’t deserve them.

An entire chicken, usually averaging a few pounds, only has two wings. ONLY. TWO. PRECIOUS. WANGZ (Helpful tip: If you find more than one, I don’t recommend you eat that chicken). So if you want to just take a bite out of the middle and throw the rest of the very things that gave that chicken any hope of flying, then go for a roasted drumstick or fried boob. Five chickens did not need to die so you could play sick games with that 10 piece wings meal. Don’t you even dare think I want you at 50 cent wing night with me.

Eating a chicken wing takes immense care, time, patience, and actual enjoyment. Embrace the cartilage. Detach some bones. Suck some marrow. When you are done, I want to see your plate hold a pile of bones ready to be an exhibit at the history museum:

God gave us these glorious cuts of meat ready to be deep fried for 8 minutes. Or baked for 45. Or grilled for 30. Or dipped in lava for three seconds. And then finished in a bath of seasonings, rubs, and sauces to create the glorious CHICKEN WING.

I am a woman in her late twenties with ambitions, dreams, and wide feet. I have visions that one day I will ride on the back of a motorcycle, holding onto the abs of a man I’m attracted to with a lovable personality and deep convictions, eating delicious wings, and throwing the bones to all the stray dogs we pass like a rich and charitable princess.

That’s the dream. Until then, I will #EatDemWangz and proudly #ThrowDemBonez sitting on my couch re-watching episodes of 30 Rock.