Someone called me a bitch the other day, like it would cause me to crumple up and die right then and there. Well, apparently that didn’t happen, now did it?. I don’t remember when I crossed the line into bitch-hood, but I have identified a few principles I have come to live by which may explain why others consider me a real bitch, and I’d like to share them with others who might be out there, struggling to find their own true identity.
Let’s be clear. It is not easy entering the very small and coveted clique of bitch-hood. It takes time and perseverance, which is why, once attained, one holds their position near and dear to their heart. It is a matter of pride. Any sanctimonious snob who wants to insult me is going to have to do a bit better than that.
So without further ado, I give you the top five reasons I am a real bitch, and proud of it.
Reason #1: Unless bagged and tagged, I consider food or drink found in a kitchen is fair game.
A real bitch makes no apology for snagging someone’s whoopee pie or left-over shrimp ding. Long ago, someone swiped my tiny bit of left-over filet mignon boxed up in the fridge. I had planned to zap it for breakfast and have steak and eggs. I had dreamt about it. It is a cruel affirmation of the callousness of this world to realize there are some who would steal food from the mouths of “babes”. So, turn about-fair play. The chocolate lava cake the middle child hid behind the sour cream in the fridge? Pilfered. The last of the fresh squeezed orange juice that the little guy just loves for breakfast? Yum. The niece’s butterscotch caramel that she tried to hide in the mayonnaise jar? Gone with the wind. Live with it, you whiny thieves.
Reason #2: I cannot read minds and I no longer bother trying.
At one point or another, a real bitch is going to say or do something that ticks off others. Not being especially contemplative or compassionate, there are times when a callous comment might escape from my lips. Obviously, it was uttered without much thought, and in most cases should not be taken as purposely hateful. There have been times when I have been shunned for days for some innocuous thing I have said or done. If on the off chance I inquire “What’s eating you?” and I get a “Nothing!” in reply, I’m leaving it at that. No one should expect me to delve into the inner soul and pry out whatever is bugging them. Ain’t gonna happen. The offended has had their shot, so get over it you pansy.
Reason #3: Revenge is best….well, it’s just best. Any way it is served.
Listen. Revenge is good for the soul. Of course it should be carefully considered, harmless, and many times silent. Nothing uplifts the spirit like a good “So there”. The middle child is blossoming in this area, but the rest of my family has yet to show a clear and purposeful effort. Pitiful. They will never know the feeling of outward tranquility, the pleasure of inward retribution, and the silent screams of “Na na na na naaaa na” filling the brain.
Reason #4: My possessions are just that. Mine.
Ownership of my stuff does not come to others until I die, but being a generous loving person, I am more than willing to share any and all of them. Until such time as my demise, I will determine who uses what and when. I doubt I will care much who used my bath gel after I kick off, but I feel as though I should at the very least be allowed the luxury of dying before the vultures descend. Were it not for the stunningly weak excuses and denials offered upon interrogations, I might not feel as strongly about this as I do, but turns out these birds I’m speaking of can’t even lift a brand new mascara without leaving the packaging as evidence. They don’t deserve my stuff just yet, the dopes.
Reason #5: All of the above are subject to change at any time.
Yeah, just when people finally understand the rules, I get to change them. Bitchy? You betcha, but this is what I’m talking about, ya ninny.
There is a bit of a bitch in all of us, men included, so what’s wrong with developing our God-given talents, I ask you? Nothing. A word to the wannabees. Don’t try slipping in under the door. You will be discovered in no time, and thrown out on your skinny little butts. Half hearted bitches give the rest of us a bad rap. So, the next time someone calls you a real bitch, stand tall! Wear your crown with pride. It’s a compliment.