Thursday, April 14, 2011

entitled to a sense of entitlement

I think one of the things that irks me the most is when someone walks around with a sense of entitlement. Ugh, it just drives me batshit. I get nearly homicidal when I see those attorney commercials fishing for people looking to get rich quick. (That's one of my two biggest pet peeves about humanity, and I'll probably expound on it in a later posting.) I get upset when I hear people - rich or poor - walking around like the world owes them something. Life ain't fair, and that's a hard lesson for quite a few people to learn....hell, it's hard for anyone to learn. We all whine about it from time to time, but those who live thier lives trying to gain something for nothing frustrate me. 

With that said, there are certain times in a life when a sense of entitlement is a completely appropriate thing, and if you DON'T flaunt it, you're just a turd that's trying to play martyr and ruin it for the rest of us.

As I mentioned yesterday, I am 8 months pregnant. Officially. (Hallelujah, holy shit. Where's the tylenol.) I've carried this fetus, this tiny cherubic parasite, for 8 months at this point. I have a month left to go. And at this point in my pregnancy, I've got a raging sense of entitlement. This is my third pregnancy, and the worst of the lot. I feel like I should be able to do what I want/feel like when I want/feel like it however I want/feel like it. If I want to eat a can of pears for supper, buzz off. If I feel like push-mowing the grass, get outta my way or lose a toe. If I feel crappy and only want to sit on my ever-spreading ass and eat popcicles, then, by God almighty, I should be able to sit on my ass and eat popcicles. And you should bring them to me. And then ask me if I want anything else. And offer to rub my aching back. And this applies to ALL pregnant women. We should be treated like the princesses of the universe that we are.

Now, I think I know what you're thinking. If you didn't put the baby there, why should you pander to a fat, hormonal, incubator that is having difficulties getting up and down, is suffering from endless digestion problems and craving absolutely weird stuff like frozen, uncooked pie crust?

Because if you don't and we catch you, we can sit on you and crush you. And when we're done with that, we'll crush your soul with our evil, hormonal wit. Life is hard enough without getting your ass kicked from the inside.

(Can you tell that I've had a not-feeling-so-hot kinda day?)

I do love y'all. And don't next mood swing is due in 5.3 seconds. I'll be my usual sunshine and roses at that point.

Y'all be good!


  1. E-GADS I just realized that I started about half of my sentences with "And." Oh well, sorry about that. We shall chalk it up to...well, I don't know what. But we'll just pretend it didn't happen.

    I'm off to eat a popcicle.

  2. Pop a Prozac, too, while you're at it! ;-P