Time for a quick flick through Scary Mommy, where left-leaning ladies are “supporting each other through laughter and empowerment.”
But of course.
My current fixation happens to be a home invasion… My house is nigh on impossible, according to my husband, to break into. However, I can’t stop thinking about it.
No explanation is offered by the author, Elizabeth Broadbent, as to possible causes, but the fixation with “scary men breaking into my home” entails lots of weeping - “tears and breakdowns” are a recurring theme - and the purchase of many things.
My husband has had to buy any number of security items. A raging liberal who believes no one has any reason to own anything but a permitted shotgun for hunting, I’ve contemplated buying a pistol. These thoughts will not go away… So I down another Klonopin and wait.
Oh, come on. It’s Scary Mommy. You knew some kind of mood-stabilising medication would crop up sooner or later. Other unhappy preoccupations include recurring thoughts of an expired husband:
I laid in bed imagining different ways he could meet his demise.
After the birth of my third son, I became convinced that his head would fall off.
That’s when… they upped my meds.
At which point, readers may wish to ponder just how often ladies of the left feel a need to list their mental health problems, as if engaged in some kind of competition, while demanding that the rest of us aspire to their greatness, emulate their lifestyles, and do as they say.
Ms Broadbent’s other empowering contributions include Why My Ex and I Are Getting Matching Tattoos - it’s his birthday present, you see; and Why I Don’t Really Care If My Kids Drop an F-Bomb. In which we learn that while “fuck” and other epithets are fine for a nine-year-old, “ethnic slurs” and “misogynist slurs” are of course taboo. Ms Broadbent is, needless to say, quite pleased with her discernment on this matter. We’re also informed that the word uppity is “totally racist language,” regardless of context or intent, as is the phrase no can do.
Readers in search of further wisdom can learn, in some detail, of the looming age of “reusable toilet paper” – i.e., wiping your bottom with the remains of old T-shirts:
doing [a] wash every three to four days, for a family of six, you need about 100 wipes.
Inevitably, Ms Broadbent wants you to know her pronouns.
Update, via the comments:
Previously in Scary Mommy…
Why, one might think there were a pattern.