When B.I.T.C.H.s Be Crazy

It was a long day. A day I’d rather forget, though my memory would never allow that. In fact, it had been a series of hellish days hard to put aside.

Three of my four kids were sick. I was just sick and tired. My eight-month-old suddenly decided she was ravenous from the hours of midnight through 3:00 a.m. and I’m the only one in the house with working boobs. My two-year-old hit her terrible two’s running (into things), often feeling the need to literally scream every word. And yes, I mean every word. Not in an upset way. She’s just a loud talker–an eardrum-ripping-shake-the-house-loud talker…and talker…and talker. I tell you, she doesn’t stop for a breath. Though, with three other siblings to contend with, I guess I can’t blame her.

After pleading from my oldest, I decided to do something fun with the kids. Lunch out. Something we never do unless a play-set is involved. This particular place didn’t meet that criteria. Big mistake. One minute in the kids were fussing over seat arrangements. Two minutes in Loud Talker was ordering the waitress for things not on the menu. Three minutes in Night Eater’s foot intersected with my iced tea and as a result drowned me in sticky, freezing liquid that wouldn’t end up drying until after I got home an hour later. My driver’s seat still feels icky to this day.

And this was only the beginning. Don’t get me started on how the rest of the day went. Overdue work assignments. My computer eating my latest chapters from my next novel. A toy explosion in every room. Child eating disorders. (How can they prefer processed garbage over home-cooked meals? I’ll never understand.) Kid bedtime madness–which resulted in kids changing rooms at ten o’clock! I could go on, but you certainly don’t want to read more about my complaints. It’s grueling listening to others vent…unless you’re a B.I.T.C.H. That night, my B.I.T.C.H. came to my rescue with a well-timed phone call that changed the course of the evening.

Bestie I Can Tell Crap (with) Honesty: B.I.T.C.H. I have a couple of these fabulous friends who let me vent to my heart’s content…and vent, and vent, and vent. You know who you are. And you know if you’re that person to someone else–someone who listens to all the crap and honesty and pain and doesn’t say to “get over it” or “it could be worse.” This friend doesn’t draw comparisons to make you feel bad about feeling bad. This person simply offers support during your rough day (or week or month) and lets you blow off steam guilt-free. Sometimes we need to settle into our mire just to feel it before we can get through it and move on.

It sucks to be judged for wanting to unleash a mind full of frustration to another person, so many people hold it in until they blow. To me, moderate venting prevents that. Some days I need to rip off the “all’s-great-here mask” and be real with a true gal pal. Have real angst that I can share and get a nod of affirmation that I’m loved and supported, no matter how cranky I feel that day and no matter how trite my problems. And likewise, I like being that person to my friends–glad to help them blow off steam and we can laugh or cry about it later.

To all the B.I.T.C.H.s out there, thank you for listening. For not hushing and shushing. For allowing humans to be human, not perfect. For no-judgement ears and sturdy shoulders. Yes, bitches be crazy, but luckily I have besties who love me despite the lunacy I find myself wading–and drowning–in on a regular basis.



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