The Secret Life of B's.

    There is a little known fact I want to share with you, something I may get in trouble for divulging but my heart is heavy with the guilt of knowledge. 98% of the female population is comprised of those suffering with, recovering from or being newly diagnosed with the emotional, mental and (yes) physical ailment known as Being a Bitch. If you just so happen to be reading this right now in company with your mother and daughter, chances are that at least one of you is currently battling with this crippling affliction. If neither of them are, well kiddo, it is highly likely that you are in fact the bitch. Sorry to break it to you like that, I know that was a little heartless. In 2010 Being a Bitch accounted for 74% of the domestic homicides in North America, 40% of all automobile collisions and 100% of the arguments on VH1's Basketball Wives.  In fact, this ailment is so widespread, males are now beginning to be diagnosed with Bitch.  In record numbers, even. And of course because of this fact, scientists are already making great headway in isolating the Bitch gene for inoculation. Patents are already pending for a vaccination of the disease in its viral form. By the year 2018, scientists are predicting that one in two people (and the entire population of France) will have been exposed to a variant strain of the Bitch virus. By 2025, "Catching Bitch" will be as prevalent as the common cold.

Yeah, Peterson's just gonna have to do the presentation. I caught a crazy case
of bitch pudding over the weekend.

  It's not easy being a bitch. Actually let me retract that. it's pretty freaking easy. Completely breathtakingly easy. Being a bitch is just about the most easy breezy way to be in the world when it comes right down to it. And I have to admit, being a bitch has been my default setting some days. I don't walk into it intentionally however. I go into each day with what I believe to be an optimistic open heart and a desire to treat each person with the dignity and respect that I would hope someone would give me in return.

Yeah, Psychic Hot- line? I figured it all out on my own, thanks. We're good.

   But then I take one step out of my front door and it's all down hill from there ladies, gentlemen and ignorant folk. Without fail, my shiny happy people holding hands outlook on life goes from hippie-style to Bruce Banner under duress in t-minus ten... nine... eight... I can't even remember not being like this. I think it probably started (much the same for most girls, I presume) when I became a pre-teen. Hormones and shit, God's gift-wrapped turd of a Valentines gift to woman. It always starts the same. I foolishly tell myself that today is going to be the day that I let things slide off my back but then cut to me by mid-morning, sweating the small stuff yet again. Today's offense: the slow-moving elderly person that decided that he wanted to ride the escalator at the mall and stand right in the middle of the stairs, preventing others from stepping around him to the left or the right. As I stood there, contemplating if I was going to testify on the stand for my own case or just let the defense attorney speak on my behalf (after I pushed him down the flight of stairs and tried unsuccessfully to flee to Barbados with a duffel bag of twenties and all the shoes I could carry) it dawned on me that it doesn't have to always be like this. Life isn't a race to the finish line and you don't get extra points for finishing first. I needed to calm down and enjoy the ride. Problem is I just don't know how. Remember what I said before about being a bitch being the easiest stance to take in life? There's a reason for that. It's much easier to take the cowards way out and allow your emotions to rule your world instead of... you know... sanity. So i continue to work on my attitude and my behavior. Some days I am triumphant. Some days I fail triumphantly. Most days I fall somewhere in between and for the time being that will just have to be good enough. At least until they come out with that vaccine.


---  Vanity in Peril