Tag Archives: Vacuous bitches

The Stepford Bitches

~originally published 2011~

I don’t fit in anywhere.  I never have.  I will be anything you need me to.  But none of its real.  I do whatever it takes, act however you need me to, just as long as you like might like me.  I traded authenticity for acceptance long ago and never really looked back, until now.

I’ve lived in this God-forsaken shit town for 3 years and I haven’t made one friend.  I’m not looking for your pity or sympathy either.  I’ve got my pillow to cry into and a therapist who hears me vent plenty.   I am a loner, not by choice.

I just don’t fit into this cookie-cutter community.  Apparently I don’t know the secret fucking handshake in this one horse town.  Most women here are trust fund girls who went to Yale and probably have their silver spoons embedded in their snatch to prove their purebred status.  I’m the mongrel they want to spit on, the girl of which a few of their husbands sometimes secretly steal glances when they’re not looking.  Something about me makes these women uneasy.  I’m college educated too, but I didn’t go to an Ivy-League school.  I had to get to a state university through work-study, scholarships, and financial aid.

Something about me threatens them, because they can’t even make eye contact with me when they’re away from the “pack” all by themselves.  You know, the clique of women that just like in high school, stand to the side and whisper in hushed tones as I pass by.

Most of them are approaching middle-age and have starved their way to being fit through daily yoga and pilates.  They walk around toting their children they adopted from a foreign country because they were way past menopause when they decided to start their family and it just wasn’t working out having dogs as surrogate children anymore.

They drive around in their Cadillac crossovers, donning their linen attire because God forbid they wear anything but natural fibers.   They babble about their recent trip to Prague and how they are had their color scheme in the kitchen changed from avocado to mint and it actually feels cooler.   They let their kids wear capes, tutus, and strange hats to school, even though it’s not Halloween. Because they believe in going along with the whimsical ride but the truth is they can’t set limits with these little fuckers.   They let their boys wear their hair down to their ass because ‘gender ambiguous’ is trendy now.  But next month if the trend changes they’ll cut that hair right off in a heartbeat because it’s all about appearances and nothing to do with principle and surely not about what their kid actually wants.  They name their boys shit like Rocko.  I’m sorry, but that’s like a dogs name last time I checked.

Everything in their lives is sanitary, sterile, and healthful from clothing to food.   I don’t think any of their kids have ever tasted a cupcake with red dye #4 or high fructose corn syrup.  They subsist off of “organic only” products from Whole Foods aka Whole Check that both look and taste like cardboard and they bake muffins with their own breast-milk.  But those kids won’t learn that it all tastes like ass, until they get far enough away from mommy’s helicopter apron strings.

At the last PTO meeting I attended they were all clambering who’d take home the compost pile from the Harvest garden at school.   I wanted to raise my hand and offer to take a shit in the compost bag just to see if anyone would notice I said anything.

When I walk by they act as if I do not exist, like I am a non-entity.  In those moments, it makes me fantasize about being on my knees and sucking off one their husbands, purely out of spite.   I wouldn’t.  I have morals and besides their husbands equally creep me out.

Yet, I am still on the outside looking in.   Filled with a palpable sadness. A long-standing dolefulness that spans years.  The kind of penetrating sorrow which makes one turn a collar to that cold and damp, almost as if to shield oneself from its grip.

It’s like I’m seven years old again on the play-ground and some jerk kid won’t pick me for the team because I don’t have the “right” clothes.    It’s the same bullshit, just that those kids grew up and became adults.  Now they’re still the same pretentious elitist assholes just older.  Same as it ever was.  And I still don’t have the teflon I need in life to let it all roll off.

Newsflash bitches, money isn’t everything, if you lack basic social graces, respect for others, and genuine kindness you have nothing.    These rudimentary  lessons should’ve been mastered back in grammar school.


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