Love Languages are the best wave of armchair psychology to hit the hive mind for years. Besides helping people recognize that they’re loved even if it’s delivered in a peculiar package, it gives respectability to my obsession with perfect gift giving. Gifts must match recipients. They must demonstrate you took a moment to consider the…
“…when I hear women saying that the cards are stacked against them because of the Patriarchy I think, “Yeah no shit. Welcome to the world, Princess. Stop stomping your dainty little foot sniffling “not fair!” Grab the fucking deck and reshuffle.”
The first time Steve put his hands on me, I sighed, audibly, said, “Okay, then,” and thought, “So this is how it’s gonna be, eh?” I was displeased, not offended or violated.
To my ears, these nice ladies had just chirped “Hey you know what the Sistine Chapel needs? Some tract lighting with pretty scarfs draped over the bulbs! Hey, has anyone ever petitioned Congress to update the Statue of Liberty’s outfit?”
I sounded like Daffy Duck and Sylvester the Cat had a baby and it was on meth.
And anyone who wants to sign up for a copy can now, cuz Amazon. They won’t get it til November. But neither will they suffer when the book sells out the first day. I don’t know if that happens. But it might, don’t take chances with important matters. The mother of my child hood friend,…
“Oh…crap. I was really hoping for Roman gold hoards. Not children frozen for eternity in terror clutching at their dead mothers’ throats.”