My mum once said I had a way with words. It’s a pity how that way with words is completely unable to penetrate my mothers iron-clad-wicked-witch-of-the-west skin. She’s adorable all-sweetness-and-light when it doesn’t count. But when it counts, when life throws me a damn avalanche made of bricks and cheese she’s all fire-and-brimestone and ass-kicking.
But anyway, I’d rather not become one of the millions and trillions of people blogging about how much their mothers suck for being a little too matron and not enough sista. I would actually like to get on my orange box about those over eager people getting married to their soul mates after a measly 6 months, honestly guys, I’ve had a relationship with a bottle of vodka that lasted longer than that. And we all know how that ends. Face down in an ally way questioning your existence on this spinning mound of dirt. Moving right along, that’s wonder-freaking-full that you’ve found you’re one-and-only-partner-for-life but when you, and yes you know who you are, when you tell me, that my valentines day need for smushy lameness complete with driving into the middle of nowhere and getting completely lost before spending way too much on lunch and chocolate is all for show and just a sad excuse for loving someone I need to have a yell. I mean seriously who died and made you the know-it-all-queen-of-romance-and-love if I want to be emotionally retarded only one day a year then I will be, just because you have a love of living out valentines day every day of your life doesn’t mean we all do, you’ve clearly never lived in the emotionally unaffectionate bubble that many of us call home, and don’t understand that it takes us a whole 364 days to prepare ourselves for the emotional overload of human contact that is valentines day.
Too much Desperado not enough Pretty Woman.