"NATURAL BORN BITCH"

I am very anti-social and particular who I am "friends" with. In fact I don't have any one I would really call a "friend".

I don't trust people, it's the old "Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice and shame on me" philosophy.

It's not that I think everyone is bad, I am not that "fucked up" from my past. It's just that I always expect the worst and hope for the best, that way I am always protected.

A few weeks ago, my husband and I were invited to a social event and I only went because I knew my husband loves to socialize. He knows what usually happens to me at these types of parties, but maybe this one will be different.

I wrote this to kill the pain instead of taking my "meds".

"NATURAL BORN BITCH"

I sat quietly as this woman (whom I just met) decided to tell me her life story. She had just moved to this country because her husband took a job here.It is the typical ex-pat wife, boring and useless story I have heard since moving here.

She told me that she was dead set against coming to a “third world country” and was furious with her husband (trust me, this is NOT a “third world country”), and almost divorced him over it. She complained that there were not enough English speaking people; that her maid ironed her husband’s shirts wrong and the new cook she just hired uses too much salt.


With a fake smile plastered on my face, I nodded at the appropriate times and occasionally would shake my head in false agreement. I had taken my prescribed crazy “meds” because I knew was going to have to be “normal” at this stupid party my husband got invited to. I even took a few extra “happy pills” (Xanax) before we left to ensure I would behave myself.


Oblivious to my “new friend”, I was bored out of my mind. My eyes started to roam the room; she was too busy talking about her hating life here and how she wish she was back home in the states to notice my disinterest. I looked down for a moment and studied a knife on the table; maybe it was sharp enough to cut her vocal cords and she would shut up.

“Behave” a little voice said. “Whatever” I replied silently back to the “voice”, but I continued to behave myself.

As usual with any “fancy” party or social gathering, I am to be on my best behavior and dress appropriately. “Appropriately” to my husband is different that most husbands’ idea of it.

I do not dress like a slut; in fact I dress “down” as much as possible to avoid attention when I am out. Combat boots, black cargo pants and t-shirt is my style, it doesn’t exactly avoid attention, but makes me less approachable.

My husband hates that I dress that way and would love for me to dress like a princess at all times, but he knew that I was this way before he married me.

Dressing the way he wants me to, attracts to much unwanted attention and makes me look vulnerable.

I prefer being a six foot tall blond that looks like a model with a “don’t fuck with me attitude”. It usually keeps most of the men at bay.

There are the stupid ones that dare to come up to me and my response varies with what kind of mood I am in; “Not interested”; or just a simple “fuck off” usually does the trick.

But, tonight I sit in the perfect “little black dress”, my hair actually styled and I even have on lipstick and mascara. My (much older) husband gives his approval; I have met the requirements of the perfect beautiful “young trophy wife”.

I am snapped back into reality and realized that the woman had still not shut up. I had completely lost track of what she was saying, but now my attention was drawn towards a group of women giving me dirty looks, and whispering.

Here we go again and I could feel my “meds” starting to wear off. I was getting my “normal” (normal for me) feeling back. It was time for me to go before I said or did something stupid.

I looked for my husband “Where the fuck was he?” I was screaming inside, we had a deal, if I got cornered by one these types of women he would rescue me.

Suddenly from behind me I heard a woman’s voice say “Why are you here?”

At first I thought she was talking to “Chatty Cathy”, but she wasn’t. I should have known from the tone in her voice that the question was directed at me.

Turning in my seat I looked up at a middle aged woman, who was beautifully dressed and had the perfect fake smile plastered on her face.

“I was invited” I replied sweetly. I knew what she meant but he pills had completely worn off and I was not in the mood for any “catty” shit from these bitches.

She lost her composure because she didn’t have a prepared “snotty” reply.

The “voices” egged me on and said "Go for it", so I did.

“I have my invitation in my purse if you would like to see it” I didn’t give her a chance to reply “I would never would have guessed you to be part of “security” for this party” I continued pretending to look for my invitation and trying not to laugh at my own clever wit.

“I am not with security!” she practically yelled at me, and gave me that “how dare you” look. At least she had got “Chatty Cathy” to finally shut up.

“I was merely inquiring why you were here in this country?” she continued with indigence in her voice.

I warned my husband that I would only strike if provoked and I classified this as a full on attack, especially when the woman had her "posse" standing behind her.

Standing up, I towered a good three to four inches over her and she was forced to take a step back to look up at me.

“I am so sorry, my mistake” I dripped sweetly and offered her my hand in almost a dare.

She took the bait and I grabbed her hand and hung onto it in a “friendly” gesture.

“I live here because I choose to. No, I don’t work. No, my husband does not work.” I continued on “We have two teenagers, two cats and two turtles, and my name is Elysee Johnson, but you may address me as Lady Johnson if we ever meet up again, which is highly unlikely”. Being an English snob was genetically bred into me and it did come in handy at times like this.

Yanking her hand away she started to sputter something vile out, but I was on a roll.

“Don’t let the American accent fool you; I am also British, French and most import of all I am sick of women like you trying to belittle everyone around them to make yourselves sound important”. I looked at a her and the posse who were now trying to find a way escape.

“When is the last time any of you did something completely selfless and that doesn’t mean that you gave at church or threw some loose change is a beggar’s cup”. No one answered.

In fact, I was met with complete silence; in fact the whole room, which was actually very a large ballroom; was silent and all looking in our direction.

“You know what, we’ll talk when you know what it is like to be beaten and abused, or when you have tried everything in your power to save someone’s life and couldn’t. I will never be able to wash off the amount of blood that has run through my fingers from complete strangers, to friends, family and my own." I spat at them.

I actually feel sorry for women like you; because I have actually "lived" and you never will”.

I felt a hand touch me on the shoulder and immediately stopped talking; I knew the familiar touch and reluctantly turned to face my husband.

I expected to see anger and embarrassment on his face, but instead it was compassion and understanding.

“Let’s go” he said calmly and picked up my purse that was lying on the table and gently slid his arm through mine. Without protest I walked away and we headed to the elevators.

“Keep your head up” my husband whispered as we waited for the elevator. “You are doing fine”, he wanted to get me out of there before I completely snapped.

I could see in the reflection of the mirrored elevator doors that they were still staring at us and I could hear the whispering start.

The doors opened and we stepped in and turned around to face the front. My husband reached over and pushed the button and the doors started to close on the shocked faces.

“Fuck it” I said out loud.

“Don’t” my husband tried to stop me, too late.

I hit the “door open” button on the elevator just before it had completely closed. They swished back open and then I flipped them all “the bird” (middle finger, rude finger, whatever you want to call it) and then pushed the button to close the doors again.
“You just couldn’t help it could you?” my husband chastised me like one of our kids, but I saw the smile on his face.

“No” I smiled evilly at him “they deserved it”.

“I know” he answered and kissed me. “You’re a “natural born bitch” and that is part of why I married you”.