I’m Not Your Wife

I got a stupid text from Shithead on Mon.  He wanted me to come over and help him with something.  He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but he needed to tell me to my face.  Whatever.  I’m not your fucking wife.  I’m not at your beck and call. 

I told him I was busy.  I should have said fuck you, I’m not about to be anywhere near you.  I didn’t though. Damn missed opportunities.

I didn’t think anymore of it until today.  I text him to find out when he was coming to get Doll because he hadn’t been bothering me all week (YAY).  He turned all martyr-y.  You haven’t heard from me because you were too busy for me.  I just wanted your help.  I said I was busy.  Well you could have given me five minutes of your time.

Really?  Am I supposed to feel guilty for not wanting to go to his house that he lives with his sife in?  Am I supposed to feel guilty for not wanting to be groped and sexually harassed?

Honestly I do feel a twinge of guilt for hurtng his feelings, maybe.  But really I didn’t want to be in a room alone with him.  I know what he’ll do and I don’t want to be in that situation. 

Now he is texting me every five minutes to see if she is ready for him to come pick her up. 

I feel knots in my stomach thinking about him and how he aggravates me.  He makes my life miserable.  I wish I could take his visits away from him.

Stupid bastard.

Y’all take care,

Mandy

Ovarian cancer: It whispers, so listen.