Apparently I’m not “allowed” to be angry with B-renda anymore. My mother seems to think my anger only excites my brother David’s anger for queen hairiness, and so since he’s FAR more likely to do something about it than I would, she feels I should zip it.
Well, were it as easy as turning it off I would have long ago. Spending my time loathing someone isn’t something I really enjoy doing, it’s just my job title… as David would say. After all, I didn’t earn the title “The Biatch” being as sweet as my blog name may make me. When I know I’m right about something, I will drill it into your skull until you can do nothing but cave in and agree… I’m female, I’m allowed. Neener! Also, as the youngest sibling I had to out smart 4 of my bigger, stronger brothers and my “punch in the gut” kinda sister. It’s made me into the thinker that I am, and by no means am I very smart, but I can at LEAST out smart them, the dummies.
Anyway, I’m not going to stop, can’t even if I wanted to, and it’s not like my dislike is doing any harm (save a few really bad internet shot). She’s just worried I’ll say something to my multi-million dollar aunt that’ll make her look bad. Chill, mumsy… you raised me to *ahem* be classy… so I will be. As classy as a girl can be at a reception where the dress code is hick-wear. A-yuck, a-yuck.