Sunday, August 14, 2005

Another One Bites the Dust...

Back around mother's day, I posted about this bitch hole who called me the fat lady when she saw me at church. Don't ask me to find the post and link to it, because you'll unleash my wrath and trust me, you don't want that today with how cranky and sleep deprived I am. Find it yourself.

Anyway, I allowed this woman to live, partly because she was helping to plan my baby shower and it would have seemed a little ungrateful to kill one of my hostesses. Plus she's friends with my mother-in-law who I'm hoping will watch Baby boy as often as my job might require it.

But as of yesterday, letting that woman live has come back to bite me in the ass. You see, my sister-in-law had a bridal shower yesterday. Because my sweet, sweet sister-in-law is getting married exactly one month to the day after my due date. Leaving me one month to not look like a beached whale in the pictures. Oh and did I mention I'm a bridesmaid? Yeah, because I'm a dumbass that way. The correct answer to being asked would have been "I don't want to leak milk at the altar during the vows, I think I'd be better off hidden in the audience." But no, me and my lack of being in people's weddings made me go "oh golly! Let me spend $150 on a dress I'll never wear again." And then I had to order said overpriced dress 10 sizes too big because the David's Bridal lady couldn't predict how ginormous my boobs or my ass might be that soon after my due date.

But that's a whole separate suicide-inducing story. And if Tom Cruise leaves a comment about how I should take more vitamins, I'm going to kick his gay ass out of the closet. Because maybe he'd be a little more fun if he'd just come out already.

Anyway, back to the evil bitch who must die. Yesterday at my sister-in-law's shower, everyone is being polite and sweet to me, telling me how I look great, despite the fact that I have this giant belly and am wearing this bright red outfit that makes me look like a red flag at a NASCAR race. Until the bitch. Who walks over to me and says "OH MY GOD! Look at how big you've gotten!!!!!"

Silence from me as thoughts of skin removal, eating of internal organs and scalpings flash through my brain.

I'm somehow able to meekly smile at her, while Sweetie Pie's cousin who was standing by me talking before we were rudely interrupted simply stands there, her jaw quickly getting a rug burn from having dropped so far open.

My mother raised me to be polite. And so I didn't say what I should have said. Which would have been "well, that's true. But it's because I'm pregnant. What's your excuse?"

Actually my mother and politeness have nothing to do. The one thing that really sucks about my life is that I only come up with the ultimate comebacks later. I think there was a Seinfeld episode about that where George Costanza had the perfect comeback much later and kept trying to get the guy to say the same thing so he could use it.

Except next time I may be hormonal enough to cause physical damage to this woman and forget about the ultimate comeback again.

Love,

Catwoman.

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