I was going to write a great post about these articles. A nice, medium-sized rant about how I prefer the title “Ms.” because I deserve the same marital anonymity as a man, but won’t get my panties all bunched up if someone happens to say “excuse me, miss” or even when the store clerk calls me…*shudder*…ma’am.
But I’m just too sick.
And one of the worst things about being single is being single and sick.
No one will make me a hot drink, or rub my feet, or say “there, there, poor baby”, or pick up my snotty tissues*. Even people who are attached to the worst louts and bitches in the world at least have that possibility.
Nope, it’s all me, all the time. Pity party for one. Unless, of course, you count my new boyfriends Neo (Citran) and Vick(s).
Back to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.
Now go buy some flowers for someone you know who isn’t feeling well.
* Picking up someone else’s snotty tissues is, by definition, true love. Not that I throw them everywhere. They have a habit of multiplying.