I think periodically we all need to publicly vow to improve ourselves. Maybe it makes follow-through more likely. Who knows. Today, people, I am divorcing myself from bitches – those men and women who are miserable and hell-bent on making those around them miserable as well. You know what I’m talking about. People who cannot bother with basic civility, that snap at you if you ask a generic question or even drop by to say hello.
This should all be well and good. Who wants to hang around with bitches, after all? The problem with me is that somehow I feel guilty about it. I don’t know why. I tiptoe around this crap, afraid of upsetting someone. Even though this bitch just upset me, I don’t want to upset them. I highly dislike this about myself.
I am typically your standard Type A personality. I’m decisive. I can lead when necessary. I’m organized. I’m punctual. But in this one instance, I’m a damn weenie.
Why shouldn’t a bitch be called a bitch? Maybe I’m doing them a favor – letting them know their behavior is unacceptable and bitchy. I don’t have to be mean about it. I just don’t have to deal with it. I get whined/fussed at enough at home by my children for ridiculous things (the chocolate milk isn’t mixed right, banning cat-chasing, requiring that pants be worn) to have to put up with it from anyone else on the face of this earth.
I’d like to promise that if someone is a bitch to me, I’ll say “you’re being a bitch,” but that’s probably unrealistic. What I do promise is to remove myself from any cloud of bitchiness, and when physical distance cannot occur, I shall simply not engage with said bitch. Deliver us from bitches.
There. I feel better.