Less of a bitch
It’s another weekday. First day of work. Nothing, I’m just bored. Too sleepy to work.
A while ago, I had a short chat with my boss. At one point in our conversation he told me that during the second and third year of our existence (in business, I mean), there were people who found me bitchy. As in that word. He refused though to mention who among my officemates said that. But it doesn’t bother me. I have a fairly good idea who THEY are. Or were. Whatever.
But does being described as bitchy affect me? Well, maybe a little. But not really to the point that I go to that denial stage and those kinds of stuff. I know I am bitchy. I was born that way. It must be in the genes. Not to make any excuses, but the truth is I got that from my mom. Call her Taray Queen all you will. Yep. And like I told my boss, ask my brothers the first word that comes to their heads to describe me, they’d probably say I’m mataray. Yeah, they did that, at one sort of family retreat. Surprisingly, it didn’t surprise me.
Nor did it surprise me to hear that I was bitchy. I was more surprised that my boss thinks I have mellowed down a bit. Now that’s something I don’t hear everyday. Hmmm, have I really mellowed down? I think I’m in denial.
I refuse to be less of a bitch. I am a bitch, that’s what I am. So sue me.
And if I’m not, then I must be an alien disguising as me while concocting plans for world domination.
