If you want to offend or upset me, calling me a bitch will not accomplish that mission. The countless times I have been called a bitch have typically been the result of me refusing to permit myself to be subjugated. Of course, it has also been a term of endearment exchanged between me and my friends, aka “my bitches”, all of whom I adore. There have been a number of times that my bitches and I have been called “bitches”, collectively, for refusing to acquiesce to the persistent advances from “gentlemen” callers (a term I use very loosely) when enjoying a night out. Don’t get me wrong, guys, there is nothing sexier than a 40-year-old man, with tufts of back hair protruding from the neckline of your popped up polo collar, stumbling over to a table of women that are minding their own business, enthralled in conversation with one another, and laying such epic lines as “I’m having sex with you tonight, you might as well be there to enjoy it.” or “Roses are red, violets are blue, I suck at poems, nice tits.”, as you attempt to “accidentally” rub the ass nearest to you. I realize that when exuding such blatant charms, it can come as a shock when every woman within earshot doesn’t drop her panties and throw them directly at you, in a desperate bid to win your undivided attention. It is completely understandable that you would be taken aback when your chivalrous overtures are met with nothing but total indignation. The only kinds of women that would fail to recognize the prize that stands before them are BITCHES.
You would think that I would relish every moment of being underestimated and assumed to be unintelligent because I have boobs and a vagina and am not completely hideous. You might think I even go the extra mile to ensure that no one thinks me capable of intellectual thought by dying my hair blond, wearing makeup and developing an affinity for shoes that inspire imagery of brass poles on poorly lit stages. I don’t care if you want to assume that I have the IQ of a kitchen sponge but don’t get pissed at start name calling when you discover that I, in fact, am a bit smarter than the average kitchen sponge. Not much, mind you, but enough to make you think twice about making snap judgments.
I know that some women find it completely flattering, if not a complete turn on, when taking the dance floor with a girlfriend or two, shaking her ass to the blaring booty chatter bass, to find herself being groped and rubbed on in a surprise dance floor attack from behind. There really is nothing hotter than a half drunk stranger, who took the time to marinate in an entire bottle of cologne, who expresses his interest in getting to know you better by grabbing you by the waist and firmly gyrating his crotch against your ass (or back, depending on the height difference). Now she has gone from dancing and enjoying the night with friends, to trying to pry your hands from her waist, while maintaining her balance because you have prioritized rubbing one out on her backside over staying upright and are willing to take her down with you if your balance fails before your mission is complete. For some odd reason, if she manages to pry herself free and declines to permit you to finish using her ass as a masturbation tool, she is a bitch. Look in the mirror, asshole. What does that make you?
Other instances in which I have been considered “bitchy”:
If I am forced to call the customer service department to lodge a complaint, rest assured, I am going to get whatever credit or free shit I am seeking.
If you give me unsolicited advice, it is a possibility.
If you say something shitty to or about my children. In that case, if I am only bitchy, consider yourself lucky.
If you talk shit about my mother, my sister or any of my friends. *I* can talk shit about all of the above. You are only allowed to listen and nod your head, not contribute.
If you state opinions that demonstrate complete ignorance, especially those of a political nature. If you don’t know what you are talking about, shut the fuck up. If you are a complete bigot, go crawl under a rock. I have no tolerance for intolerance.
If being a “bitch” means I won’t roll over, lower my standards or pretend to be a fucking idiot to appease someone else, someone make me a fucking name tag.