People in Denver don't seem to like animal print. It at least marks you as an outsider. Cheetah print and fishnets were all I'd packed for my weekend, so there was simply nothing to be done.

I get into Denver International Airport at 8:30pm, fresh from my first visit to Texas. Frontier Airlines serves warm chocolate chip cookies. They cook them during the flight, and so this tiny plane is infused with cookie perfume. It’s calming in a way that hermetically-sealed shimmery bags of pretzels just aren’t.

I get to my hotel around 10pm. The cumpolsory email-checking for which my generation is known ensues. I’m in Denver for the National Women’s Studies Association Annual Meeting. I’m presenting my research on fat women of color. I look at the conference schedule. Tomorrow. 9:20am: Indigenous Feminisms.

Shit. 9am....