Verbally Executing the Stupid as Sport

As I close in on the year anniversary of my husband’s death, people say more and more stupid things to me. I am truly not fit for human consumption right now. Not because of sadness, but because I can be really, really mean. If you have read more of my blog than just this one post, you know that I am a raging smartass. However, if you have actually ever spoken to me, you know that I have a really dry sense of humor and a quick wit. If one combines these things with pressure and grief, the acid that drips from my lips makes that Alien bitch look like she just needs to brush her teeth. I have begun to verbally execute the stupid without a second thought as to what happens after I swing the sword. I am done with censoring myself and allowing the emotional suckerpunches that the inconsiderate throw to go unpunished. If you can't keep an intelligent tongue in your head, that's your ass.

The first stupid thing that was said to inspire me to take my badass out for a walk was in the bank that my mother in law runs. The stupid person made small talk and then uttered, “Well, maybe things will be better when everything gets back to normal.” I looked at this idiot, whom is small of both stature and mind, whilst unsheathing my sword and replied “Just what the hell is normal?” As the socially retarded individual stared at me as though I had suddenly sprouted a second head, I put her on her knees with “It’s not like Rich is on vacation. Bitch, he died. Life as I knew it ended, it is not on pause. Normal doesn’t exist anymore.” As this person put her mouth back together, I heard that audible pop that one hears when someone is about to utter what they think is a really witty retort. I swung hard and sure as I said “Unless and until you have buried that slob of yours that lays on your couch, spends your money, and sleeps with your sister, don’t ever speak to me about normal.” The bank hushed and I swear to god I heard crickets. Then my mother in law began to laugh that nervous "what the hell is gonna happen now" laugh while my victim began to cry. The socially retarded individual, who goes to her church, has not changed anything at home. She has had no light bulb moment. I guess working two jobs, while her husband lays on her sofa, unless he gets up to have sex with her sister, is her normal. Fear makes the ridiculous normal. She has no idea who she is without that situation because she is secure in her position in her normal. I, evidently, had my own lightbulb moment. She goes to my father in law's church and I am considered a preacher's kid, my husband was a deacon. My long years of swallowing my anger has given me a belly full. (Big clue folks, preacher's kids know most everything that the preacher does, but deacon's wives know more. Being both, I can get the dirt on anyone that darkens the door.) A bitch is all outta nice and I don't know when the next truck will deliver my order.

The second instance of my acidic, verbal, bitchslapping of an idiot happened when someone literally said to me “Oh I understand, my brother’s, wives‘, best friend’s, sister died 4 years ago,” Now, I understand that all widow’s have stupid things said to them. To the people to utter these idiotic phrases, sometimes the best thing that anyone can say is “I’m sorry” and leave it at that. Do not try to relate. I served him a nice, tasty cup of Shut-the-fuck-up as I actually said to this man, “Had she been in your bed for 21 years? Had you constructed your life as a pair and are now a single? How did you find a way to sleep?” He didn't see me draw the sword in his arrogance. Yes, I consider it arrogance. To compare one to another is utterly ludicrous. He was very quiet as I handled my business and walked away. I discount no ones grief, but there are levels of hurt in my mind. Trying to relate one to another is like comparing apples to landmines. Someone's mother, father, brother, sister, spouse or child outranks the loss of anyone else in your life. Period. This is not a debate. My hurt outranked what ever he thought he was feeling. At this point, I expect no quarter and I give none.

The reasons for my nastiness is that in the coming 7 days I must face my first Valentine’s day with out Rich in 23 years. It was also the last holiday that we celebrated together. There will be no flowers and no card. I will not be at Waffle House. Then on Monday morning I have jury duty. Now a widow on a 4 day countdown to the anniversary of the event that shattered my life as I know it may not be the best thing that can happen to someone on trial. But unless I actually know someone related to the case, I don’t have an excuse not to serve. I will not split my chest open and show my grieving heart to strangers. However, I am hoping that the attorneys during jury selection don’t make the mistake of stepping onto the landmine field that is my emotional state.  If one must engage in verbal combat, I figure I could do worse than disemboweling a lawyer in public.

A week from today I truly have no idea what I will be feeling. My husband collapsed on February 19 and life support was disconnected on February 20. It's two day event. Will I be curled in the fetal position sobbing like it’s all brand new? Will I stay up through the night and drink for 48 hours? Self medication anyone? What I can say is that I am looking at it as just get me to the other side. This year has tested everything within me, and I have survived it. I have no excuse because I need none. I have earned my anger and my grief. When people ask me about my “Real Deal Steel Magnolia” moniker is about all I can actually say is this, “If you don’t know, you damned sure better ask somefuckingbody, else.”