Home Wreckers

Speaking of bitches....

My boyfriend is hot. LOL, he is! Sometimes I forget what a gorgeous, well dressed, hard bodied piece of...well, you get the point. He is also a total flirt. He has killer eyes and smile that can light up the room. He is funny, charismatic and knows how to work it. You all can imagine how well that boded with the fact that I use to be an insanely jealous girlfriend. Over the years I have stabbed many a hussy with my dagger like glares! Within the first month of our relationship I had mastered the cocked eyebrow, pursed lipped, "what in the hell do you think you're lookin' at" face and never hesitated to use it.

These days, as a mature and secure adult woman, I tend to let things slide. I think it is "cute" when the girls flirt and pine for his attention. I trust my DB absolutely and rarely if ever feel threatened by any of them but occasionally a woman comes along that pushes things just a step to far and really pisses me off. Yesterday's post got me to thinking about the Stepford Wives, the good bitches and the bad ones. And about the Home Wreckers, woman who don't give a flying rats ass whether a man is married, engaged or committed, or even if their significant other is standing right beside them. I remember one in particular from our first year together. I called her "Teeth".

She had a nice pair (of teeth that is). She was a waitress at one of our favorite restaurants and never missed a chance to flirt with my DB (the fact that I was there never failed to escape her attention.) She would saunter over, rest her hip on the corner of the table (back towards me) and flirt her blue eyed, blond haired, skinny little ass off. She'd bat her eye lashes while using her tongue to point out each of her flawless white porcelain veneers. Her daddy was a dentist. She smiled and giggled and touched my DB's shoulder every few seconds. Teeth was a full blooded, Grade A, home wrecking bitch and I loved nothing more than to rub her face in the fact that I had my DB, hook, line and sinker. We'd hold hands while she chatted and pretend to forget that she was there for a moment or two while lost in each others eyes. I would catch her mid sentence to ask her for a slice of lemon in my water or to repeat the "specials" (though there were none.) I would tell her what a "doll" he was for buying me that new horse or how much fun we had in Vegas last weekend. I loved to get her goat. Nothing made me happier than when she would leave in a huff, having failed to get a rise out of my man.

I know her type because I use to be accused of being one. Looking back, I can see what all the fuss was about but at the time I hadn't much of a clue. Actually, I did. I just didn't care. I was a relentless flirt. Did I just use past tense? Hmm... In any event, I had a particular talent for pissing women off and for getting their boyfriends in trouble. Contrary to popular belief, I was never knowingly involved with a "committed" man but in a small town, fiction tends to be more popular that fact and I didn't use much discretion. At the time I felt that it was not my responsibility to do investigative work on the men that I dated. If they told me that they were free, I took them at their word. Their lack of integrity was not my problem, or so I thought. Obviously I feel differently now but still don't understand the inclination we have as women to place blame on the home wrecker. Are they bitches? Hell yah! Are they morally reprehensible? Absolutely. Should they be held responsible when a man is "led" astray? I think not. You cant rape the willing.

Hmmm.....