I’m not sure when I started speaking for single women. I’m not positive about the timeline on defending the underdog either. What I do know is that I stand as a mouthpiece for both quite often, and I don’t intend to stop doing it anytime soon.
I didn’t stand up and claim to be the wisest woman south of the Mason Dixon. I did, however, relate to ladies who were involved in shitty situations, because I am the Ambassador to All Things Fuckboy, and I believe that means I’m qualified to advise on the matter.
Yes, I know I’ve got some piss poor decisions in my past, I don’t make any attempt to hide them. If I had not been hosed by these hos, how could I sit here and dole out advice on the matter? Just guess? Ouija board? Phone a friend? I needed to have at least half of these heartbreak and agony haikus at the helm for the ladies that needed to feel they weren’t alone.
Although we focus a lot less on those situations these days, I am still in your corner girls. I promise you, if you can manage to completely ruin it, I’ve burnt it slap to the ground a time or two. Without y’all telling your stories, we wouldn’t have much of a discussion. I know it can be a struggle to relay your bad decisions. That’s why I join y’all in doing so often, because even Ms. Macon has been the chump in relations with Fuckboys.
I hope that all y’all ladies are still one less Fuckboy deep after Valentines’ Day, and no schmoozing has some feet on your couch and all your lucky charms mangled by some douchebag who thinks employment is for those less attractive than he. If, by some horrible twist of fate, VD brought one out of your woodwork, feel free to forward this over to him.
Dear Fuckboy,
Get your fucking shoes off of my girls’ couch. Replace her fucking Lucky Charms. And stay out of the babies Juicy Juice, with your pathetic ass. For the love of God, do something with yourself.
Ms. Macon