A HORSE AND A FUNERAL

So ladies, I have been beating a dead horse. Maybe even bludgeoning it but anyway. Yes, I'm talking about "what's-his-nuts." Again, my apologies to him if he ever gets his meat hooks on this blog.

The thing is, ladies, we believe in these guys. We are there for them. Beside them, behind them, on top of them...you get the idea. We trust in them. We hand over our heart and rely on them to keep it safe. Then it turns into that freaking diner scene from Tommy Boy.

I never uttered a bad word about "what's-his-nuts" before he dumped me for the bar scene*. I actually protected him. His heart, his ego and his reputation. But when these "what's-their-nuts" take care of our hearts the way a high school kid would an "egg baby," we turn rotten. And it's not because we're vengeful or bitter, it's because we told them from day one that our hearts have been broken, cracked, scrambled, poached, sunny-side-upped and even swallowed raw! We ask them to be up front and honest with us to avoid yet another bad egg experience. These "what's-their-nuts" look into our eyes and promise to handle us with care. They tell us they will protect our little Humpty Dumpty asses, and somehow we end up with egg on our face. How can they possibly blame us for retorting? We feel so foolish! I picture him in a recliner with a cooler full of beer; me in a push-up bra and thigh-highs juggling the empties.

So for all of you readers who think I am a "woman scorned" because of my lambaste, well, you're right in a way. But there's reason for it. Now that I've gotten that off my could-be-bigger-in-what's-his-nuts'-opinion chest, I feel like I can finally bury this dead, decomposing carcass.

(cue the bugle)


*The opinion as to why the break up occurred which is represented in this blog is not necessarily the opinion of said "what's-his-nuts."