I feel like I’m really moving up in the blog world. <sarcasm> I honestly never thought I’d be the one who would get to address the barrage of haterade in this ever classy and oh so passive aggressive manner but here I am, stooping. The thing about “anonymous” comments is….well….grow a set. If you’ve got something you want to say to me and you feel you know me, and my situation, and my husband, and our relationship well enough to have an opinion, then by all means, share it with me! But be woman (or man) enough to not hide behind the cloak of anonymity.
Dear Anonymous,
Gosh, I just can’t tell you how much I appreciate your concern over how embarrassed my husband and son must be of me. The thing is, you read my blog, you don’t know me, or my husband, or my son. You don’t know the circumstances of our relationship, what works for us, the depth of our love and trust for each other, through the good times and the more difficult times. You don’t know that when I came home last night, he kissed me and told me how much he loved my post, that he had told his coworkers about my silly crush and my upcoming event and they all asked him how it went and he directed them to this blog, in all of its unashamed, totally honest and always ridiculously candid glory. Doesn’t sound much like a man embarrassed to me. You don’t know that I read him your comments and he laughed at you.
The thing about my husband and I and our relationship is that we are friends first. We are not jealous or suspicious of each other. I did not Saturday, nor would I ever, leave with the intention of doing anything other than have a good time with my girlfriend, flirt with a boy I had a crush on (which is actually healthy, by the way. Try it, you might like it. Or don’t…I’d certainly never demand you approach your relationship the exact way I approach mine like you did me. That would be pretty self righteous, no?) and take a few, rare moments to be wild and free. Those moments, these days, with a young son and 2 mortgages and a full time job, while still waging a war against major bouts of anxiety and depression are few and far between. I need them. I need that glimpse of the girl I used to be in order to be the mother and the wife that my family needs me to be now. Don’t you, who don’t know shit about me, DARE judge me for that. Or do. Whatever blows your skirt up. You will anyway, obviously.
Believe me, if I had wanted to “bang a D-list celebrity at his own event” like you so colorfully suggested, I could have. That wasn’t my intention. How about if we all take off our Judgy Hats and just live and let live. What works for you and your marriage or your life obviously doesn’t work for mine. I don’t welcome your demands that I change my behavior to conform to what you deem ideal any more than I welcome some male politician’s opinion about what we as women are legally allowed to do with our own bodies, or who is legally allowed to love and marry whom. But thanks for flattering me by taking the time to comment. And for whoever you are that told me I should be ashamed of myself and then complimented my top? You can get one here.
Peace Out, Sprouts. Thanks for stopping by.
p.s. Yes, I took down the post. If you missed it and you'd like to read it, I'll be happy to email it to you but my skin is just not thick enough for blog hate.
