Memory and Men


I hate typing on this big laptop because the H, Y and U often don’t work; I should have done something about it at the time, I know but here I am stuck with it now so that I have to make sure I bang the letters down or check back. Lazy, yeah that’s me all over; there are a lot of things I should’ve done at the time and if I’d done them I wouldn’t be here in the life I’m in but then I can’t negate the presence of my children and if it wasn’t for them I might be saner than I am although I like being a bit different...and think that even they like that about their mother.

     It’s Father’s Day and on Facebook some of my ex-in-laws are regaling their dead father as if the sun shone out of him – it definitely didn’t and they mostly hated him at the time. That re-writing of history really gets up my hump, as do these made-up days. I mean, Father’s Day wasn’t around when my children were young (nor was their father for that matter) it was only invented after that mad mob Fathers For Justice reared their heads dressed in super-hero costumes on a bridge.

     It was my sister-in-law who set me off, I mean that uneducated slavish pouring of late and undeserved love made me sick, so much that I wanted to slap her, to yell and remind her that her life hadn’t been a bed of roses because of her parents – hell she didn’t even have the comfort of thorns. They were half-starved so he could have enough money for alcohol!

     Ramble over; let the fathers of the world live in peace…but you know what really gets my goat? It’s this thing where men don’t listen to women and treat them as nothing – I mean, you wouldn’t do that to your best friend, ignore them I mean. Would you? They wouldn’t stay your best friend for one thing. Yet, husbands laugh at how their wives moan and groan about how little they do in the house – these men turn the women they’re supposed to love into naggers, they change the dynamics of the relationship then make jokes about it, about their best friends. Yes, that’s been on my mind this week too. Thank God I live alone; there’s less chance I’ll be had up for murder.

     Thanks for this space that was fun!

The End

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