It's 2:30 in the morning. Short (c'mon it's me so read "relatively" here) and sweet (& we all know I'm not sweet-oh well-go for "good human being" cuz "sweet" doesn't really rate. Muffy is sweet).
Madeleine Albright said: "There's a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."
I don't even believe in "hell" but that just sounds as right as rain. These are the women who see you in your pajamas in the grocery store, a baby on your hip and a toddler in tow (kinda) and instead of saying, "you've got the best kids...you seem really happy and you can tell your kids just adore you. How would you like to get together for coffee this Friday. My daughter could watch your kids for a couple hours and we could just talk."...they say "oh, you poor thing. You look so tired." Really? Has something happened that I don't know about that makes that an acceptable thing to say?
It's the same for women who tell horror stories about 72 hour labors or SIDS to a pregnant woman. For shame. Then there's that woman who sees your toddler with his binkie that YOU, his MOTHER, have decided it is ok for him to have-it's a comfort and he's not going to be sucking on it in college, even during nap time (yup...I'm a veteran of the binkie wars) and she proceeds to look at both you and your sweetie like you're putting him at the kind of risk you would be if you took him, say, whitewater rafting or mountain climbing. And all the bull shit with nursery school-learning specialists and vocal development coaches-who are there to tell you how far your child is lagging behind. Nursery school's concern with vocal development should be if a child screams "fire!" or "I'm bleeding!" Nursery school should be about playing in the sandbox table (god I loved that) and doing crafts with your sweet, chubby little hand print and running around like a wild child and eating paste.
It must make these women feel better about themselves if they're willing to risk hell, but for the life of me, I just can't see how. We pull each other up or we all go down. Bitch is high praise when it's tossed at you as a response to your doing your job well or being an advocate. It's another thing all together when women call you a bitch because you're so fucking mean to every other woman you know; you're the bitch who's made everyone in the neighborhood cry with what you pass off as camaraderie. It's not. It's. Just. Being. The. Worst. Kind. Of. Bitch. Do you wanna find out if there's a special place in hell just for you?
Clare Boothe Luce said:
Because I am a woman, I must make unusual efforts to succeed. If I fail, no one will say, "She doesn't have what it takes." They will say, "Women don't have what it takes."
And to my sistahs everywhere, those I've met and those I admire and those who's forced slavery drives me to tears, I am very literally and Sincerely Yours.
Seriously, now. Even if you're like me and don't believe in hell, are you sure you want to find out if you're wrong? Mull over that while you drink your $6.59 double decaf soy no foam latte and I'll enjoy my freshly brewed Spartan French Roast-even if it weren't $6.50 a can I'd still highly recommend it-and I'll wait to hear what you decide.
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