I typically keep my relationship status of widow separate from anything on this blog since I devoted so much of my time to writing another blog on that specific subject, but today I was thinking of various lists swimming around in my cesspool of a deranged brain, and decided which were worthy of being fleshed out into a post. I get very disapproving looks whenever throw out a joke about widowhood and dead husbands, but the only way I know how to survive tragedy is through the lens of humor and so far it has saved me from going completely bonkers.
Of course there are an extraordinary amount drawbacks to being a 39-year old widow in the smack dab middle of her life, but I’m surrounded by forced to face those shortcomings all fucking day, so I enjoy focusing on the few “benefits” that come with being completely and utterly abandoned by the person who vowed to never leave you, ever. Okay, maybe that last sentence was dramatic but he always promised that nothing would happen to him so he basically lied, and therefore I can casually use the word abandoned in a “lovingly – I ain’t mad atcha” kind of way because I know it wasn’t his choice.
So, here is my list of slightly silvery linings to some pretty dark and menacing clouds.
- Not questioning whether or not you flushed the toilet after your morning purge. Mr. Hanky will still be there when you get home from work and nobody else ever has to know that you missed a step in sanitation 101, or that you ate black bean and corn salsa the preceding evening.
- Frozen pizza is okay. Actually it can go straight from the oven and directly on to a large plate without being cut into equal slices. You can just drag that entire pizza to your bed and gnaw at the edges like a rat without judgement. Or you can say fuck the edges and just eat the middle, although calls for more strategy and probably a burnt tongue. Also your t-shirt can act as a napkin so clean up is super fucking easy.
- The answer to “Do we need this?” and “Can we afford this?” can always be a very emphatic and triumphant YES! Making decisions no longer has to be a logically and well-though out process involving the input of someone who is financially wiser than yourself.
- Nobody complains when the electricity is turned off because you may have overlooked a bill or two. Only you can blame you. That should be a public service announcement just because of the power of the last sentence.
- As a follow-up to the above…everything is always your fault 100% of the time… but that also means that all of the victories are also 100% yours too! So remembering to wheel the trash out to the curb or close the garage door is your fucking brilliance shining through! There can be no light without darkness…or electricity without money.
- You no longer have to hide your embarrassing Netflix queue or the “shows you’ve watched” list. Enough said.
- Dirty sheets? Who fucking cares. It’s your dirt, and dirt don’t hurt.
- You’ll have countless hours of silent self-reflection time, almost always culminating in the surety of being a crappy friend and a socially inept being unable to make conversation with pretty much anyone.
- You c an survive for weeks on cheese and crackers, and even longer if you have an assortment of condiments, making every night a discovery in delightful cracker combinations. I urge you to try a saltine with a slice of cheddar and a nice squirt of horseradish, or perhaps a teaspoon of aged pickle relish. It’s your call…and your cracker.
- Let those pubes grow and flourish like a non-inhabited Amazonian jungle because nobody is venturing into the southern regions of your wild continent. This saves about 2-5 minutes a week depending on your heritage. This furry abundance can also keep those dirty bits a little warmer in the winter, especially when your electricity has been extinguished.
- Make people feel guilty for discussing their bad day at the office, or the death of their 113-year old great-great grandma. Throw out the widow card and nobody will try to one-up your game with their plight of being an under-appreciated admin assistant.
- You can make a montage of yourself burping unapologetically. I don’t really feel the need to elaborate on this. You all know exactly what I am talking about.
- Wonder aloud if Spencer and Heidi (Speidi) are still together ,or if her plastic surgery making her look like a deranged muppet was the last straw for him and his oversized teeth.
- Spend hours making faces in the mirror without anyone questioning your sanity, or trying to get in on that shit by hip-bumping you to the side and taking over part of your stage.
- Your bathrobe can be your new best friend. It’s like being Hugh Hefner but in fleece instead of silk, and also without all the money and grottos full of attractive people and one old guy.
- No longer need to pretend that Jersey Shore doesn’t have cultural significance or is beneath you. You can also admit that you have a steadily growing crush on Vinny and want Snookie to be your best friend because she too likes slippers and animals masks. And drinking. And has recurring UTI’s. She can be your FastMed buddy on the weekends.
- Drugs no longer have to be divided 50/50. Again, no need to expand on this concept. Smoke/snort/swallow it all without feeling the least bit greedy.
- Beneficiary forms are really easy to complete because you don’t have to remember someone else’s social security number in addition to your own. 9 digits are hard to remember now that you’re doing all of the drugs.
- No need to shower before bed, or even use a baby-wipe before putting on a fresh pair of underwear. Your grief has earned you the right to smell like a sweaty crotch sock.
- And finally, you can sit at home on a Friday night in your bathrobe, with a pile of crackers and condiments between your unshaven filthy crotch, watching Jersey Shore and making lists, all while burping and patting yourself on the back for being a YES! girl because you just purchased a really expensive unicorn costume for your dog and didn’t have to consult anyone!