Fat Bottom Girl Said What

It’s The Little Things

Maladies

I’m sure you know that person.

All of us know at least one.

You know, that person that always has to one-up you, regardless of what the topic of discussion is.

One of my co-workers, whom I have befittingly deemed Hypochondria, does this with health issues. She constantly has something or other wrong with her, and how dare anyone else be sicker than she is.

Yesterday I was down in the back.

Well, more down in the back than usual. I’ve had neck and back issues for years, and am at the point now where I don’t recall what a day free of back or neck pain is like, but I try not to complain about it, because what’s the point?  It’s a constant, and it’s most likely never going away.

Anyway, yesterday was worse than most, as the pain had kept me awake for a couple of hours during the night, and I made the mistake of telling her I was going to leave early to go to the chiropractor to see if that would help.

And that’s when it started.

“Oh, I know, I have a pain here, and it shoots down my leg, and I’m going to have to go to the doctor too, and it’s probably a UTI and a yeast infection, and my neck is all messed up and I should probably ask the doctor about that too, plus I need to go get a massage again, because chiropractic never helps me, and my ADD and my nose and my . . . . .”

For fuck’s sake.

I bit my tongue, willed myself to hold back the “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” that I wanted to scream.

Say instead, “Yeah, maybe you better go get that checked”, as she hit the speed dial button for her doctor’s office.

Seriously, what would she do if she ever had an actual medical condition?  You know, one that rivaled all the made up ones she has?

Oh sorry, gotta run, she has another list of her white girl problems to tell me about.

Apprentice Pyromaniac

the acrid smoke

of the burning Flint Hills

creeps in

through my cracked office window

soon I shall start my own blaze

although

I’m not usually one to burn bridges

ever extending my hand

only to get rapped

on the metaphorical knuckles

with your metaphorical ruler

like you’re some damn nun

pious

righteous

married only to god

when we both know you’re closer to Mary Magdalene

than you care to admit

I don’t mind living among the whores

I’m quite comfortable here

they don’t judge like you do

and there’s booze

So

I gather my accelerant

and pick up my strike on box only matches

ready to burn this bitch down

because I don’t need you

or your judgment

If only I’d known

years ago

how good it feels to be a pyro