Such a BITCH

I know, I know – it’s been too long. I’m a little caught up in my own world these days with the inclination but not the motivation to write. Over the 4th of July weekend, we painted the living room and hallway, back living room and bedroom. The following week we replaced the carpeting in all of those rooms too. I still haven’t managed to get things put back together. Go ahead…talk to me about lack of motivation!

It doesn’t help that mom is getting worse, and I’ve been working 6 days a week between my two offices. Not long days, necessary, since I’m still getting between 20 and 30 hours, but still…6 days where I am somewhere other than home all day, 6 days where I don’t want to get anything started in the morning because I have to go to work later or don’t want to do anything when I get home because I’ve been up since 5:30am.

However, I had to tell you what happened when I went to my parents house two weeks ago. My sister was there that same weekend (joy!) so I got to see her too (more joy!). My sister and I….well, we’re different and yet the same. We’re 10 years apart and weren’t raised together. I was raised by both of my parents – she was raised mostly by her father and his series of women, and mom for the first few years and the last few of her teens. So…very different lives. I don’t see her very often – maybe a few times a year – so she’s not used to the way I act, or interact, with my husband. She doesn’t give a rats ass about any of my medical issues, and claims to understand my infertility. I suppose she has a small right to that, since it took her a long while to get pregnant with both of my nephews…but she never went to a doc, never did treatments, never did a blessed thing but keep trying and get her endo cleared every few years. So while she’s familiar with the “Dammit I want this” feeling, she still has no idea.

ANYWAYS: All day that Saturday my dearest, most wonderful husband had been poking me, pestering me, and being generally a literal pain in my (name a body part). No hard pokes, but I was hurting hard between the trip down, a lack of sleep and an abundance of stress…the heat didn’t help either. This means it was painful to be touched and I’d repeatedly told him to STOP POKING ME all day. That night we were getting ready to watch fireworks and he poked me again, and I once again told him to stop poking me please. I saw the playful gleam in his eye and amended “And don’t pinch me, tickle me, or lick me either.” My sister EXPLODED. The words out of her mouth? “God you are SUCH a BITCH! No wonder you can’t get pregnant if your husband can’t even touch you.”


To my credit, I did not kill her. I spun to her and said “If it didn’t hurt so much, I wouldn’t tell him not to.” What I should have said, and realized much later, was “huh. And you call ME a bitch.”

I still have not spoken to my sister about this. My mom tried, telling her that husband obviously doesn’t mind – he DID marry me, after all, and has stuck around. If he minded, he wouldn’t do it. It’s a form of play (sort of….) and it’s just the way we are. My sister maintained that I’m just a bitch.


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  1. Oh good Lord. Well done on the lack of murder.. not sure I could have done the same!I’m sorry that you have such an unfeeling creature for a sister.. hugs to you,Marie-Ann

  2. last I checked, poking was not a means of sperm delivery!

  3. Bitch? I’ll show ya bitch… bitch SLAP, bang! There, NOW call me a bitch, bitch!! LOL Glad you didn’t kill her, but you sure should’ve slapped the taste out of her mouth. 🙂


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