I. AM. A. BITCH.
I am tired of being ashamed of this.
I was never really very good at hiding it, but now that I’m over 40, I really give up trying to do that at all.
I am constantly surrounded by nice people. My husband, my boss, coworkers and at least half of my children are all nice people. I have no idea why they don’t mind hanging around with me, other than- seriously, if nice people hung out with each other all the time, it would have to get boring:
“Isn’t it such a lovely day?” “It IS lovely!”
You need a bitch around to be like, “Sure as shit isn’t lovely in Japan today.” or “Who the fuck started the rainbow glitter-shitter contest around here?”
There are some days I wish I could be nice. It would really come in handy. But unfortunately, in addition to the fact that I’m a complete bitch, I’m also a fantastically bad liar and actress.
If I hate you, chances are, you’re going to know it. I can’t smile and be friendly and pretend to like you, and watching other people do that makes me ill. The constant level of phoniness I’m surrounded by everywhere in the world is just exhausting.
I always like it when I meet another sister bitch. I can usually tell immediately by her eyes- there’s a sort of gypsy/crazy/hazel thing we bitches have going on that got our asses burned at the stake in years past. These days, we aren’t burned at the stake, just forced to suffer suburban social lives that make us wish we DID know a spell or two.
Anyhow, I’m coming clean (and sort of doubting this post is a news flash to any regular reader of mine or particularly a person who knows me in real life!) and embracing my inner and outer bitch.
I’m a bitch, bitch.
Like the graphic? I have it in my office- it’s from this fab collection of flip-chart thingys. Love it.