Nasty Complaining Women
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The best part of writing fiction was doing it alone. I’d write at my breakfast room table, invent characters in the shower and let my imagination run wild while sitting on the bathroom bowl. My thoughts and I were bffs; together and in sync. Keeping up with social media (which my press demands I do) took me out of my comfort zone and into a world filled with tirades, testiness and trends. Ugh!
My social media team (I still can’t get used to having a team) instructed me to see what’s trending as I write my weekly blogs. Before I had a team, I wrote what was on my mind-now I write what’s on other women’s minds—and I’ve discovered that some minds are located in Nasty Complaining Women with blogs, but before I become a NCW too, let me share what I’ve found.
There are hundreds of Nasty Complaining Women bloggers who don’t like men, which makes me wonder why they miss them so much when they leave. I’ve waded through grumbling posts about men who don’t call even though they said they would. Are these women kidding? “I’ll call you,” is Man-glish for “Goodnight.” Since the inventions of phones, men have used that line to make their exits. My sisters, it’s the 21st century, kiss his cheek, squeeze his hand, whisper, “I’ll text you,” and then CLOSE THE DOOR BEHIND YOU. Even if he doesn’t answer your text, it’s better than waiting for him to deem you second date material.
In my search for what’s trending, I came across blog posts from a group calling for Fat Women Acceptance (I swear, I did not make this up.)—The writers are opposed to the scorning and rejecting of obese women. Do they honestly believe fat men are contented chick magnets who don’t feel lousy when they’re scorned or rejected? Many posts on this site also purported veganism, bicycling, hot yoga and making the consumption of sugar a hate crime. Is that how they accept their fat gal pals? By getting scrawnier by the day? If they were really for the rights of the robust-they’d invite a double-chinned friend to share a bucket of KFC, a pair of Slurpees, a dozen donuts and watch old episodes of Sex And The City. (Even the chubbiest of us can fit our arms into Carrie’s handbags.) Truthfully, I too know the joy of eating cold spaghetti with my fingers after coming home from a light dinner out and admit that I can’t sleep if there’s leftover pizza in the fridge. I fully accept fat women-because under my heart is a belly that never met a pumpkin pie it didn’t like. I sincerely hope those Skinny-Minnies (I saw their pics!) at Fat Women Acceptance will drop out of their spinning classes and do mission work—preferably with starving women who need meat on their bones.
In a few days, I’ll write my next blog post—I’m planning something seasonal; maybe a discussion on fall leaves, or research the high price of coffee or a reflection on why pimples stop only when wrinkles begin—but nothing I learned from Nasty Complaining Women Blogs—because they truly taught me nothing.