I have a group of girlfriends I “talk” to daily via Facebook’s email system. If someone (a.k.a. “the man”) is monitoring what we say, I don’t know if he thinks we’re funny or psychotic or both. Honestly, our discussions are probably too much for “the man” to handle, if he is indeed a man.
The reason why we chatter virtually is because the real men in our lives don’t really get our problems or care to hear the minutiae of our day, and I do not care to have a phone conversation with screaming or crying in the background. No thank you. I’ll pass.
Anyway, here is an open letter to the monitor of Facebook’s emails, otherwise known as “the man” … whoever he may be.
Dear The Man,
Hi! I’m the more talkative pregnant one who uses a lot of bad words, capital letters and exclamation points, not to be confused with the less talkative pregnant one or the postpartum one or the one from Chicago who is going through major life changes or the two childless ones who are the most sane of the bunch.
When I said I wanted to kick my husband and show him what true pain feels like, I didn’t mean it. There is no real need for concern. Have you ever gone through hormonal upheaval? It’s a bitch.
We cheer for each other through life’s victories – big and small. New jobs, new babies, new haircuts, new outfits, new breakthroughs. Conversely, we suffer through each other’s sorrows. No problem is too small or suffering too great. We band together and we carry it like it’s weightless.
It is the way we were made.
This is a judgement-free zone, so keep your snit to yourself. And next time someone has a wardrobe crisis, feel free to chime in. A man’s opinion is always appreciated.