“I said He wouldn’t give a damn; He’d be just like you.”

“All men have criminal records.”

Baby-momma #2 says that with a straight face.

 

 

As many shots as I’ve done at the 4th of July party, it still just about floors me.

She says this, of course, after having had a long heart-to-heart with the other woman that shares her baby-daddy.

He, True to form, is not present.

 

 

Their hamster-fest has gone on amidst the plethora of white knights and mangina’s that form this royal court of lunatics.

With a long time friend –  who is also the new boyfriend – of baby momma #1 seated right next to her.

I immdiately point out how insane a statement that is.

I suppose it’s unnecessary to mention everyone stares at me as though I’m the jester.

 

 

Now, it isn’t the fact she says those words that bothers me.

It’s the fact she believes them to her core.

I point out, loudly, that I don’t have a criminal record (yet).

Nor does the boyfriend of baby-momma #1.

She counters with:

“Well, you wanted to get into law-enforcement so you avoided trouble.”

 

 

But that’s it, isn’t it?

The rationalization of poor choices.

The overwhelming desire to be the new martyr hanging from the cross of evil, deadbeat men.

The invisibilty of decent males.

Not even obsequious, mind you.

Simply sans felonious past.

 

 

Realizing the futility of my position, I stand up and jump in the pool.

If I can’t drown in whiskey…

I’ll drown in water.

Ω

♪ ♫ ♪: Nashville Pussy – Hate & Whiskey