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rant rant rant

2004-09-20 - 2:14 p.m.

I find myself looking at certain people in a different way these days. Maybe I've just been watching too much Buffy (as if there was such a thing!) but certain people in this world seem to be overtaken by strange forces. Evil Parking Lady at the office, for instance. We had an altercation with her not long ago, and now everytime she sees us drive up she makes some sort of shitty face at us. This morning she was shaking her head ever so slightly, as a particularly disturbed mental patient might. I couldn't be sure if she was aware of her ultra-bitchy head movement, or if it was just the demon inside her trying to escape again.

I've also seen this phenomenon on that Gap commercial with Sarah Jessica Parker. She looks for all the world like some sort of hideous anorexic rabbit creature being electrocuted (we can only wish!), and it frightens me. I think it frightens the cat, too, because after those commercials air she usually slinks over to me and buries her head under an arm.

When I told R I was going to write about Sarah Jessica Monster, he said “No, don’t do that.” “Why not?” I asked. “Do you lurrrve her? You lurrrve her, don’t you?” I am a merciless Bad Wife. He approved my revealing to you all that he did indeed lurrrve Sarah Jessica Monster when he was 5 years old, before his vocabulary included the terms “hideous anorexic rabbity hag.”

To be fair, my hatred of SJM is rooted in issues other than simply her resemblance to Bunnicula. I once read an interview in which she credited the success of her marriage to the fact that she did everything for her husband. Just everything, you know! Why, she always packs for her husband! Although I’m sure Dr. Laura would be very proud of our little domestic rabbit, what I'm not sure is that packing my husband’s bags are the secret to a long and happy marriage. In fact, the last time I packed my husband’s bags, I think I got yelled at because I only included one pair of jeans for a long weekend. Not that I would object to packing his bags if he asked me too. But the day he automatically assumes that little wifey back home is going to pack his suitcase, or run him his bath, or fetch his slippers and newspaper is the day he is in Serious Trouble. But of course, R would never make those assumptions, because he didn’t marry a tapeworm-ridden rabbit-woman. Sarah Jessica Monster, eat some food—maybe it will help you grow a spine.

And Dr. Laura, what the hell is your problem, anyway? Show me a person who literally lives their life by the bible. You sanctamonious prig. Proper care and feeding of husbands, my ass. My marriage is based on love, trust and respect. And my husband's needs and desires are infinitely more complex than food and sex. Schlessinger may bitch about how women doesn't respect their husbands, but how is it respectful to treat my husband like some cardboard cutout from "Father Knows Best?" My husband didn't marry me looking for another mother, and I would never presume to think that his emotional well-being depends solely on me. As Xander Harris might say, what a bitca!!


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