Angry? Mad as hell and you can't take it anymore? Get something off your chest and it could be published online and/or in print. Bitches are anonymous and may be edited for length, grammar, spelling and our lenient standards of propriety.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Yesterday when I called to chat and told you about our pleasant morning bike ride along the Trans Canada Trail (which is right in town and very frequently used by other cyclists, dog-walkers and lone female joggers), your only interest in the subject was whether there were crowds for me to cycle in; you just couldn't let it go. When I added to you that cycling in crowds is not something I am comfortable with, and that although the path is not Times Square, we are lucky to live in relative safety and security compared to much of the rest of the world, you began yelling at me about some murdered girl (killed by her husband and not a stranger, btw), asking me how I would feel to have my child stolen from me and my head bashed in by a rock while being raped. I hung up on you.
I am so sick of trying to rationalize with you: if you want to live your life in cowering fear of every potential threat, that is YOUR fucking problem and YOUR fucking business. Chalk it up to your OWN personal views of life and realize not everybody shares your sick fear! —I Love You But I Really Can't Stand You
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