Can we talk man to man? No, scratch that, I’m not a man… Can we talk woman to man? No, scratch that, too. Yes, I am a woman but no, you are not a man. You are a baby. A big, 6 foot tall, old, giant pablum spewing whiny little baby. So, again to rephrase, can we talk woman to baby?
I am so glad you are out of my life! In fact, I’m SO glad that you’re out of my life that I’m having a “so-glad-you’re-out-of-my-life party” right now as we speak. Streamer, balloons, wine. And not just any wine…but good old fashioned $10 a bottle wine. Wine that would turn your nose so far up that you’d be getting TV reception.
Let me tell you, Mister Big Baby, you were a thorn in my side for so long and irritated me more times than I can count. You were like the CAT of irritation…9 LONG LIVES WORTH. And now you’re gone and we don’t have to collectively chew your boots any longer.
You were homophobic, rascist, sexist and a dickweed who was constantly one lip twitch away from telling the whole truth about anything.
All of us had to focus so hard to pay constant attention (usually during a tornado of activity and sound) to your ever so important input that our eyes ended up being scared to blink lest we couldn’t read your lips. And…as we miss hearing an important sentence in your story, a mental “dammit” crosses our minds as we now have to say, “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” because then the calvacade or Passive-Aggressive Parade Floats drive from your mouth. “Oh, never mind.” “No, forget it.” “No, it’s fine, wasn’t that interesting.” And then our internal monologue would start berating ourselves for not paying better attention to you because now we get to go through this again and to keep you from glaring at us for the rest of the night we have to beg you to tell us that all important sentence that we missed.
Then, like the big baby that you are, we had to pat-pat-pat you. Pat you on the head and tell you, “Good job!” Pat you on the back and say, “You’re so wonderful!” Pat-pat-pat – “What a nice big baby you are!”
Well, big pablum spewing baby…as my grandmother used to say, Good riddance to bad rubbish!