Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Some days you're the windshield, some days you're the bug... A letter to the man that will NEVER read this.
And sometimes you're the poor schmuck that has to scrape the gut goo off of the windshield. Some weeks even. I really just cannot understand what gets in a man's head sometimes that makes him think that acting like a RAGING asshole all week would make me WANT to have any kind of intimate contact with him. EVER.AGAIN. No, really. Not attractive at all. The frowning face when you walk in the door. The slamming of doors, cabinets, whatever. The ,not so subtle, muttering under your breath about the way the house looks, or the laundry pile creeping out of the basket, or the fact that NO I did NOT feel like cooking today. I mean, I am only homeschooling a child that is determined to watch me rip my brains out and bash them with my coffee cup every morning. I am only responsible for his education, getting the 3rd grader ready and fed and on the bus, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, the grocery shopping, the everything under the sun I do EVERY.SINGLE.DAY.TO.KEEP.US.ALL.DRESSED.AND.FED. But now I am supposed to be a mind reader, knife juggler, jumper through fiery hoops, therapist, 5 star chef, animal wrangler, chaffeur, and playboy bunny? Screw that. I am tired. Exhausted. Like to the point I want to check myself into the hospital just so I can take a nap. So you coming home acting like a caveman hellbent on being a dick....well, it just doesn't do it for me. Does the sight of me on my period, in my fuzzy purple bathrobe, crammiong chocolate in my face, guzzling coffee, and farting do it for you? No? Well, there ya go. Your period sucks too.