Most people look at me like I have a penis on my forehead.* Let’s just be clear… I don’t. The expression varies, from one person to the next. But when you lack filters like I do, you become accustomed to the range of looks. So of course, I understand other people with no filters. I do, however try to remain aware of others’ feelings. And I do my best not to be hurtful. I guess I expect that other no-filter people will do the same.
Oh, and I totally apologize if you actually DO have a penis on your forehead. I didn’t know, and it was insensitive of me to publicly make light of it.
I’m always taken aback when someone, under the guise of being a jokester, blathers on in a purposely pointed and passive aggressive manner. The technical name for this personality type is asshat. I see several of you nodding your heads. Glad I could clear that up for you. It’s totally my pleasure. More on this later. I’ll bring it back around, I promise.
So recently I was in Starbucks, having coffee with a friend. I find myself trying to get out of the house more often lately, since my husband is unemployed. And it’s impossible to hear myself think with his “singing” and whistling I like to stay out of his way. He’s on a generous severance package, so I’m not worried yet. I only throw up once a week, and the diarrhea and heart palpitations are totally manageable. Ok, maybe I’m feeling some stress. But I choose to remain positive and confident that he’ll find a comparable way better position than the one he just left. Around here we don’t speak in terms of “if,” but “when.”
So as my friend and I are saying hi, an old friend of my husband’s stopped to say hello as well. Now, folks, you know how when you carve out a sliver of time to hang with your girlfriends, you’ve got important stuff to cover—tit sag, the efficacy of botox, my kids’ lack of initiative, her mom’s vaginal atrophy. Ya, people. It’s totally a thing. I’ll bet you didn’t know you can get a prescription dildo for something, huh? I’m such a fucking wealth of information. But that’s all I’ve got for you on that. Google it. I’m honestly afraid to. There’s just shit I don’t need to know/see. But hey, you can go for it. Though don’t blame me for any weird lists you may end up on.
Ok, so obviously, in this limited amount of girlfriend time, when you’ve got stuff to cover, a half-hour review of photos, and financial rundown of your husband’s friend’s millionaire-friend’s parent’s estate and business holdings isn’t really on the agenda. Especially since I’ve sat through the recounts of the sycophant follies before. Several times. Now, in addition to the millionaire memoirs, he told us he had sold his home, and was in the process of moving to Reno. You know what that means if you live around here. For those of you who don’t, “moving to Reno” is code for “things are sucking ass, financially.” Humor aside, people… I felt bad for him.
I gave him my husband’s new cell phone number, hoping he would excuse himself and go make the phone call. Maybe they could commiserate. However, he opted instead to make the call. loudly. while sitting at our table. He couldn’t wait to do the, “I’m sitting here with your wife” schtick. It really should be legal to carry, and use a cattle prod on people. Seriously. I’m seeing a business opportunity. Bedazzled cattle prods with cute decorative carry-along cases. A perfect gift. My genius never ceases to amaze me.
Eventually he hung up and ran out of photos of other people’s crap to show us, and decided to perform a little asshat contortion before heading out the door. He felt it was necessary to impart his wisdom on the horrors of the job market. And to assure me that my husband’s severance will run out, and he’ll be sorry he left his job.
“He’ll be begging to go back and do that two-hour drive home every day. Just you watch. You guys will be moving to Reno by September.” (insert dickish, self-satisfied cackle)
It was like watching a passive aggressive thrill kill. He, of course tried to package it like humor. But the intent was transparent and pathetic. And he enjoyed it, far more than an actual friend should. He enjoyed the fact that my husband’s out of work. I didn’t feel bad for him any longer. What an asshat. (I told you I’d bring it back around.)
At that moment I felt, for once, what it was like to look at someone with the “ohmygod you have a forehead-penis” look. Though I’m sure there was far more disdain in my eyes than anything. Always trying to remain positive on the outside, I was saying, “Ya, uh huh, it’ll be fine.” On the inside I was assuring myself that he was a pig, raised by monkeys, and though difficult with his little cloven hooves, probably still throws his poop.
It’s sad that financial issues bring out the worst in people, and bare their true colors. It’s also sad that someone who has been a friend for over thirty years would impart such an unfathomable lack of sensitivity and social aptitude. Fortunately, he’s not my longtime friend. And the feelings I’m experiencing have more to do with standing by my man, than the loss of a friend poo flinger.
Eventually my friend and I got to get back to our girlfriend conversation. And I learned some really important shit that I’ll pass along. Here you go… the most important nugget I’ll offer today: vaginal atrophy… use it or lose it.
You’re welcome.
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*Wouldn’t a forehead penis-placement save SO much time, y’all? If I could patent that, I totally would. Think of the time it would save. I don’t need to point out specifics here. But you know what I mean, ladies. And that doesn’t begin to cover the ease of camping and road trips. It’s pure genius.
