Feelings and shit: Bitches be crazy
Oh ladies, ladies, ladies, you crazy emotional vampires you, sucking the very joy from existence with your tearful man woes. Once a pillar of sanity in this mad world girls all around me appear to be all consumed by what their ‘man’ wants. Yes these are the bitter ramblings of a future spinster surrounded by dying cats but at least hear me out hoes.
Alarming stories have been coming to this troubled writer of girls who’s entire existence appears to be based on what ridiculous, bimbo rag Cosmo would undoubtedly describe as ‘how best to please your man’. These are the girls unable to make a decision without “ringing and checking” first with their beloved, will wait in all Saturday night before the realisation hits that no, he’s not calling you tragic harpie, he’s gone out on the lash. Then, inevitably you, the long suffering friend, gets that special call at 4am with barely comprehensibly hysterical sobs of “He’s leaving me, I don’t understand why is he’s leaving me? I only went through his emails twice and hacked his Facebook? Why has he gone? Why? Why? Why?” Oh why indeed.
Ladies, it’s a fairly basic concept, if you pin all your hopes and dreams on someone else, chances are they will shit over said dreams without so much as a backward glance. Now before I get the bleating of, “No, no bitter singleton, I’m married with kids”, I’m not talking about you suckers, you have made that marital bed and now you’ve got to not get laid in it. I’m talking about girls who are in the first flush of romance, you know, the vomit inducing stage “I’ve got you a puppy to show you my wuv”, one before reality comes to slap you round the face like a flaccid cock.
Now, being an emotional retard I struggle to comprehend how you can surrender you wants, hopes, dreams and desires just to please some douche bag? I’ve seen girls ditch friends, change jobs, give up hobbies they love and dreams they have because they are apparently incompatible with what their other half wants. Over the years I’ve also tragically witnessed girls being told by the so-called love of their life, who to see, where to go, what to wear, how to behave and bizarrely what brand of bloody contraceptive pill to take. This is a bit bat shit crazy for my liking, sacrificing your happiness just to please someone else is never going to work out in the long term and you don’t want to be some bitter, mad bitch trying to work out how to bury that no good bastard under the patio without the filth finding out.
For those of you lucky enough to be allowed to have friends, I’m frankly not sure how helpful we can be at this stage, “Adam says he is working late at the office, do you think he’s with another woman?” confides your wide eyed, bunny boiler waiting to happen friend. How on earth do you respond to this? The truth maybe? Fucking hell amateur, are you insane? Girls in wuv don’t want the truth; girls want ego stroking, reassurance and downright lies. “Adam? No he would never leave you, well not again anyway, not after the unfortunate incident with his secretary, the photocopier and the anal beads, he almost got fired”. Knowing full well that ‘Adam’ is about as trustworthy as an estate agent, you still smile beautifully and lie through gritted teeth because you know honesty is about as welcome as a floater in a hot tub.
So dumplings this of course means week after week you feign interest as your friend puts on her brave Princess Diana face and announces through a tsunami of tears and snot that this is “definitely his final chance”, forgetting that he has already had 27 final chances and you stopped really giving a tiny shit after the first 2.
“But I, I, I love him soooo much, I, I can’t i-i-i-i-magine life without him” you poor, confused darlings tremble. I know, there, there, but here’s the 411 sugar lumps, he can live without you and your incessant whining. Fact. Now, blokes feel free to wade right on in here, but I don’t imagine many of you spend your evenings alternating between Facebook stalking, willing the phone to ring, throwing said phone against the wall when it doesn’t and desperately trying to piece phone back together so you can leave 47 increasingly abusive answer phone messages. And if you do, you are a disgrace to your gender.
I know I’m being harsh my little treasures but it’s about time us ladies had a freaking wake up call. Isn’t it time we start putting our wants and needs first for a change? Let’s just take a tiny second to think about what makes us happy and the things we want and lets do this shit. Now, what I propose is putting on your sluttiest dress, that’s right, the one that barely covers your Jack Johnson, switch off your phone, haul ass to the bar, order 14 Gin and tonics and leave your beloved at home for a change wondering where you are and what time you and your drunk ass will roll in. Darlings you know it makes sense, let’s do this for the womankind and take one for the team. Who is with me bitches?
