Can’t Take Me Anywhere

| by Ana Surviladze Schor |

“What. A. Bitch.” written loud and clear across their foreheads. “She’s one of those girls.” they’re saying in their heads. You know, the one that doesn’t smile or giggle. She isn’t bubbly; doesn’t do a baby voice; has no real interest in photos of your baby or your cousin’s. The one that doesn’t get the hint when all the ladies congregate in their own group, leaving men to talk and smoke. She stays and SHE SMOKES WITH THEM! She dares to speak; to hold her own; to laugh freely at a joke, or not, depending on whether it is stupid; to say it’s stupid, if it is. She hasn’t learned to yield; to hold back on the reigns; to lower herself as not to offend or leave them feeling less superior.

A total bitch – the one that doesn’t let her husband be the man. The one that’s constantly assertive, to a fault. “I just can’t understand how he can take it,” they all say. One even asked him to his face; out loud. And you know what he said? He said “I love her.” It’s that easy – well it isn’t easy, it’s the hardest fucking thing he’s ever done. But it all tastes that much sweeter at the harvest.

 

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