Saturday, January 25, 2014

Sometimes I Get Really Crabby


This morning, Sir Dave and I were having coffee and planning world domination, the usual start to our day.  Day in, day out, this relentless planning! Honest to God I'm not sure I can do it much longer.  So I changed the subject to the time I cried in the basement of a knitting shop where I was attending a class.  Yes, I know, this was a rather abrupt subject change but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Anyway,  the reason I cried at the knitting class was:

a. I didn't know this class was going to be held in a small dark, very warm room in the basement of a store which in which the main floor was deceivingly roomy and bright and air conditioned.

b.  The teacher arrived on a bicycle, wearing a helmet.

c.  The teacher did nothing but talk about her achievements in knitting using all kinds of knitting terms that I didn't recognize or understand and I'm sure that's because she was so much more advanced than I was (just ask her) and I couldn't understand how anyone could live a life that was this boring and still think that she was special.

d. I had just survived a trying ordeal, which in the city is a daily occurrence that I never got used to. A homeless junkie approached me at the street-car stop where I had been waiting for at least an hour because the schedules had changed and no one notified me and now I was late for my knitting class.  This man got way too close to me, jonesing and begging for money obviously not smart enough to realize that a woman of my age is not someone you want to fuck with.  I flew into a rage fueled by everything unfair and horrible in my life and super-charged with completely out of control perimenopausal hormones.   I screamed and lunged at him my with all my estrogen induced fury until he did what all these ball-less freaks do - he ran.

e. I'm not a good knitter and I never will be no matter how hard I try.  I will NEVER, NEVER, NEVER be good enough.  I'm not kidding - Never-Ever.

f. A combination of all of the above while simultaneously experiencing the physical, mental and emotional symptoms of "the change"  - believe me, no one can do this without sobbing. No one, I tell you.

Ok, back to this morning. Sir Dave and I were taking a stroll down memory lane and I was laughing all smug in the fact that a few years have gone by and "I'm so much better now" and that's when Dave got a look on his face that suggested that he wasn't going to completely agree with me and then he said:

"Well, sometimes you still get really crabby."

Really crabby.  Really crabby?  Really?  I don't understand where Sir Dave has been all this time, but anyone who has been with me for even a little while knows that Princess Stupidhead is one crabby bitch, although she means well most of the time.  Crabbiness is just a quirky part of my personality.  I consider it more than a small part of my charm and quite possibly the secret to my successes in life.  A tantrum thrower since the age of two, I have single handedly dominated every one in my path and put some others right back in their place, that place they mistakenly forgot to stay in. A once-coworker,  (PT Penny)  for example, having seen only a small example of my burning inferno of rage, never dared look me in the eye again, never again delivered that infuriating eye roll/head shake thing of hers.  Domination is highly underrated.

But the upside to this little morning discussion, however, is that now I have a name for these tantrums, a nicer, kinder, gentler name that softens the sharper edges of my actions.  From now on, when I go to my "bad place" we will just refer to this as "getting really crabby," Ok?

There.  That's so much nicer, now isn't it?

We shall now begin our day.


  1. Hello, my name is Francesca Parker...but you can call me Shanny... oh I mean Fanny!

    I enjoy your honesty and crabbiness!!!

    Until tomorrow...

  2. Nice to meet you Fanny! I'm glad you stopped by! I'm not sure how honest I am, but I am definitely crabby!

  3. Hey :) I'm beyond happy to have stumbled across your blog ... I think I'll like it here! LOVE how you write ... SOooo awesome! :)
    I'll be dead honest - I've been known to be crabby - my brother and dad affectionately call me "bitch" from my teenage years ... I now see how I earned that :)
    Anyways! :) I can't wait to keep reading :)

    1. Welcome, Fignie! It's GOOD to be crabby. Wear your grab proudly!! Thanks for following me ! You won't be disappointed!


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