You ever want to just come out and…

You ever want to just come out and say; “Look, honey…I never slept with your husband, no matter how hard he tried.” ?

I have. Baaad.

It’s an atrocity, when a girl friendship dies/ruins/atrophies, based solely upon the misaligned deduction of a suffering wife, at the hands of her philandering husband, because she needs for you to be “the bad guy”, like we live in a low-budget horror flick, where you’re no more than some chainsaw-wielding psycho-o-wedded-bliss. Ha-ha; a lie, made up by the Bible and Greeting Card companies (one in the same, when you think CORPORATE AMERICA). For centuries, women have been pitted against each other, so that men are allowed to be dogs, running amuck, with our permission, so long as we remain ignorant of their transgressions. But, that aspect of this issue is for another day, another stance, another blog. My point, here, is our relationship with one another, as women. As a whole.

I am a girl power type of chick (and not in the way you may think). I always have been. We should sick together because, it will piss off the menfolk. Don’t you feel the urge, ladies, for feminine camaraderie? The Middle Ages did away with that, using Witchcraft as an excuse. Tiny taboos have been instituted, as means of oppressing the feminine beauty/soul/strength, since before the advent of persecution in the name of a male psyche. Again, I’m going to steer away, by pointing out why it’s so easy to turn the whole of womankind against itself. Beyond the obvious, we like to create situations/drama/altercations, where there (actually) are none. Women can handle all brands of everyday situations and feel the need to create sillinesses who can’t exist, for fear of fading into the  ether without any tributes. But, I tell you, Reader, there are some of us; if not normal; at least, aware of what a difficult and temperamental species, we women are.

I’ll put it to you, like this. I was sort of semi-serious (a month and a half in, or so) with some guy who everybody liked. He was older; smart, sweet, cute; too good, in essence, to be true. Needless to say, I was on my guard. This guy was everything, on the surface, a girl would hope for, in a companion/lover/other. I’d heard things, just from one person; a random acquaintance, to suggest that he wasn’t honest with me, but, I ignored the advice of the unnamed non-friend. Ooops.

None of this made sense to me and, ignoring my instinct and the well-meaning advice of my peer(s), both overt and subversive, I plodded along, allowing this jerk who is, it seems, insatiable, to get just close enough. He would make these sly, well-placed (only slightly derogatory) comments, about the girl he might have slept with, whenever an opening presented itself and I was so blind to the ways of players/sociopaths/scumbags, I had no idea that the old “methinks thou doth protest too much”, applied, here. I’d met her a couple of times and deemed the guy unfair-strike one. I have never been one for idle gossip, I’ll have you know. She wised up to his infidelity , it seemed, around the same time I wised up to his shitty and callous behavior toward women, in general (his Freudian shrink must be making boku bucks; that guy is a case study, if ever there was). I still didn’t know he was seeing her, past, present, or future, until she came to see me at work and said we had to talk. About him. Then, I figured the rumors I’d heard were true. You see, he got mad at me about something stupid, had lied to me about something absurd, and had blown me off, to go and do something inane. I was done with that louse.

However, if he’d broken up with this girl and she’d found out about me, chances were, she wanted a fight. Assuming (and we all know what they say about that shit) that there was about to be an altercation, or at least some brand of a verbal war, I stepped outside for some fresh air with her. Neither of us smokes. When she came in, wanting to talk about douchebag, # (take one, and we’ll call you, in order)… I realized she had been seeing him and my heart went out to her. She could use me as a punching bag, all the live-long-day. I was wholeheartedly prepared to be “The Bad Guy”.

Surprisingly, she was just giving me a good, old-fashioned girl-to-girl heads up. The guy had been a sleaze to her and she heard he was seeing me, at the same time. Knowing that we’d been with the same schmuck for a bit, she came to set the record straight. She had set out to let me know what sort of a scoundrel I’d allowed into my life, just to be on the up and up. Not surprisingly, she and I are still friends; the thick-and-thin brand, too, and not just two ships passing, in the night.

In short, ladies, if we let our insecurities get the best of us, we are nothing, more. We have no best. We, then, are no more than cock-fighting roosters, penned up against each other for the amusement of stupid boys.

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