I Am Bitch. No, Make That I am ROYAL Bitch

I Am Bitch. No, Make That I am ROYAL Bitch

Having an increasingly upset tummy (gee, I’m sure stress has nothing to do with it) makes for a mighty bitchy mom.  Working OT because the rest of the world’s still sitting on their collective asses, at least those in my immediate world, also does nothing to sooth and calm.  So tonight I cleared the room in record time.  G’s out with the dog, the kids are in the other room, and I’m up to here (and then some.)

I bought eggplant parmesan last night with the express plan of fixing it for dinner tonight.  This despite the fact that Italian gives me horrendous heartburn.  (As does pretty much anything these days, for that matter.  My Tums and I are best buds any more.)  But G, who contributes soooo much, didn’t want that.  I knew there was no way in hell I could tolerate the chili he wants, nor anything resembling Mexican food.  I’m too tired to cook, and while the soup we had last night was okay it was definitely not something I want in leftovers tonight.  (It was chicken broth wannabe with about one kernel of  rice per half cup of said broth.)  G’s attitude was that I should have a bologna or salami sandwich for dinner.  I told him I didn’t want a sandwich (definitely not one with meat-wannabe.)  I said something about Subway, thinking in terms of a salad – he went ballistic on me, challenging that I’d just said I didn’t want a sandwich so where did I get off mentioning Subway?

I didn’t try to explain by this point and didn’t rip him a new one reminding him of who just paid $1K in bills yesterday for which NO ONE else contributed a penny, nor that with the kids here his idea of helping is sitting in the bedroom and griping nonstop to me, then giving me grief if I have the temerity to watch television for a couple of hours now and then.  (Yeah, you read that right – $1000 in one fell swoop, when you count groceries for the hordes, and a couple more expenses I have to cover next week.)  I don’t have any more patience with the bullshit.  I’ve got my shovel out and my only decision is which to do first, start shoveling or bonk somebody on the head with it.

Notice I didn’t say I wouldn’t do both.  I just said I’m pondering which to do FIRST.

I’ve got just about enough money left to cover gas to get to and from work, including the overtime hours, provided nobody else comes up with another pitiful excuse for a crisis in the next few days.  I keep enough in my wallet for (subsidized, thank God) lunch money, but every nose around here can smell cash and will do everything in its power to part me from anything with dollar signs attached.

I’ve been patient with G’s whiny “I’m so sick with my cold” all week and am sick to death of being so fucking supportive of the entire planet that I could puke.  And yes, we have food in the house but nobody who sits here on their ass all day can be bothered to cook.  After all, if I’m too “lazy” why should they do anything?

So I still haven’t had dinner, but am considering trading dinner for a good sledgehammer.  Anybody know Thor’s number?


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