Rude Bitches Make Me Tired: Slightly Profane and Entirely Logical Answers to Modern Etiquette Dilemmas (7 page)

Basic consideration is all that we ask. Treat us as respectfully as you treat your clients, your boss—hell, the waitress at that Cracker Barrel on the interstate that you will never see again.

Usually, we’re equally guilty. Sometimes the slide begins when the kids come. Gone is all pretense that life will ever be the same. The only time he will open that door for you now is if you are toting the infant carrier
and
the porta-crib.

Remember how you used to make his favorite meal? Chicken cordon bleu with wild rice and sautéed spinach? Who has time for that now? Certainly not you. It’s almost time for
The Bachelor,
and you’ve already eaten but there’s a can of soup somewhere in the pantry.

Your marital manners matter, my hons. This doesn’t mean you have to treat each other like you did when you were dating, but it does mean that you don’t completely coast, taking each other for granted.

Question: Whenever my husband sees his ex-wife, he greets her with a big hug even if I’m standing right there! I think this is rude and disrespectful to me. What’s wrong with a handshake?

Well, while I agree that a “big hug” seems inappropriate, I don’t care for a handshake either. Handshakes are for new acquaintances or the workplace, not for someone who has seen you nekkid and knows that you prefer Astroglide to K-Y Liquibeads. It would be weird. That said, I think you should tell your husband that a cheerful “Hi, how are you doing?” is quite enough. If she looks puzzled and reaches out to hug him, you would be within your rights to kick her ass.

Question: My wife still has the wedding album from her first marriage. I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it does. Would it be bad manners of me to ask her to throw it away?

Presuming that she doesn’t have it displayed on your coffee table with lighted candles flanking either side, I don’t think you should ask her to destroy it. There are many reasons that women (and some men) keep their wedding albums, and it is no reflection on your current relationship. I, for instance, have the album from my first marriage, which was a tidy little six-year, no-kids matter that ended semi-amicably. I keep the album in my attic for one reason: That wedding cost my parents a shitload of money. No, that’s not entirely true. I keep it because it contains possibly the best picture of me that has ever been taken under any circumstances. My wedding portrait from that ill-fated “starter” marriage made me look like Charlize Theron, only much younger and prettier. And, yes, bitches, it was retouched from now till Tuesday, but so what? In every picture, I am glowing and Charlizing all over the place.

Trust me: Keeping the old wedding album doesn’t diminish for a second what you have now with your wife. She, like many of us, just likes to remember what it felt like to be a silken-skinned goddess, if only for a day.

Question: My husband went to Duke, and I went to Carolina. Needless to say, game nights are very intense and unpleasant around our house. When Duke gets behind, he yells, assumes a ferretlike countenance, and slaps the floor with both hands just like the Duke players. His rudeness is making it impossible to savor the game. If Duke loses, he pouts for days. Like a little girl. Do you think we should just stop watching games together?

No, I don’t. I happen to think that watching sports together can be one of the most mutually satisfying elements of a happy marriage.

You can certainly have a successful “mixed” marriage; many couples do.
But,
before you marry, make sure you have a similar level of commitment to the concept of rivalry. I remember my precious Duh Hubby being dismayed at a friend’s comment to her husband following a tournament game.

“Did you hear her?” he asked me, incredulous. “She said that if Carolina lost, she’d still pull for Duke because the important thing is that an ACC team advances.”

This sort of Ned Flanders piffle is simply unacceptable. True Duke fans don’t pull for UNC and vice versa. I don’t care if your granny’s been on a vent at Duke for six years and you bring the nurses Chick-fil-A every second Thursday, you don’t pull for Duke if you like UNC. Ever. What I’m saying is that things aren’t as bad as you think. Better to be married to a committed fan than a wishy-washy one because he will probably feel just as passionately about sticking with you. Sure, it’s nice when you root for the same team, but you knew your husband’s Serious Flaw when you married him, so stop whining.

Question: Why can’t my husband be more sensitive? We started a diet together on New Year’s Day, and he’s lost fifteen pounds to my four. I know he’s worked harder, but he rudely insists on telling everyone about our little contest and how much better he’s doing. How can I get him to stop?

I’d tell you how to lose 205 pounds overnight, but that involves getting a divorce, which, I’ll agree, is a bit extreme. Duh and I are often on one diet or the other. And, yes, he has done much better than I, owing to his inclusion of “exercise” and “strength conditioning” and “flexibility workouts.” This is in direct opposition to my plan, which includes “sitting on my ass” “eight to twelve hours a day” “okay, more like sixteen.”

What can I tell you? Some words just don’t go together in my world. Words like “exercise” and “happiness” or “library” and “Kardashian.”

We have even had weekly weigh-ins—a terrible idea, by the way. Duh weighs with all his clothes on. I, on the other hand, will go so far as to floss before stepping on the scales. The last time, he chuckled and said flossing wouldn’t affect the weight unless “you’re planning to pull a tractor tire outta there!” Right. So where do I get one of those again?

But I digress. This is extremely rude behavior on your husband’s part and an excellent example of what I was talking about earlier: showing your life partner an even greater measure of thoughtfulness. Your husband should be your greatest champion, not tearing you down for laughs in front of your friends. Tell him so, tubby.

Question: I can’t believe you just said that to her.

Oh, settle down. It’s just to make a point. Sometimes we women can be a bit hypersensitive. I once heard Duh tell a friend his gut looked like a tube sock filled with gravy, and the guy just laughed. Maybe we should lighten up a bit.

Question: My husband never dresses up anymore. Even to go out to dinner with friends, he’ll just put on his jeans and a T-shirt that says
I
’
M WHAT WILLIS WAS TALKIN
’
’
BOUT
or something equally stupid. Isn’t this disrespectful to me?

Not really. I know you don’t want him to wear it to a wedding, but “disrespectful” is a tad harsh. It’s not like he took a poo on your head. A T-shirt that evokes warm memories of a better-than-average ’70s/’80s sitcom isn’t the worst thing in the world. Look, most men will just wear whatever is closest to them. If you want him to dress up a bit, just drop the clothes you’d like him to wear on the floor beside the bed or, if he’s showering, on the bathroom floor. He’ll put them on because they’re there. Problem solved.

Question: My husband leaves razor stubble in the sink. This is the grossest, rudest thing I can imagine. I’ve asked him to stop leaving his tiny hairs all over the sink, but he always forgets.

While I’m no fan of the stubble in the sink, I think he’s probably just as grossed out by those random long hairs that cling to the shower curtain, the shower stall walls, and, of course, the tub drain. Did you ever think about that, Rapunzel?

Also, if those tiny bits of beard are the “grossest, rudest thing” you can imagine, you have clearly never watched
The Human Centipede.
Check it out and get back to me. As for a practical solution that takes about ten seconds, two words: Clorox Wipes. Tell him to swipe one into the sink after shaving and vow to do the same after you shampoo. Now, has anybody got a
real
problem for me?

Question: I’ve told my husband that it’s bad manners to walk around the house wearing only his underwear. What do you think?

Really. Anyone at all. A
Real
problem?

Question: We also fight about money a lot. Sometimes in front of the kids. Oh, and we never have sex anymore. Oh, and …

Ding-ding-ding! You have my attention. Don’t fight in front of your cherubs; that’s the height of rudeness. Plus you’ll screw ’em up and they’ll end up like poor Chaz Bono, going on talk shows and telling everybody how he’s going to buy himself a tallywacker for Christmas. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

chapter 9

Waiting Game: How to Deal with Line-Jumpers and Other Creeps of Nature

One of my favorite recurring skits on
Saturday Night Live
features the “Two A-Holes.” They’re married to each other, or at least in some sort of relationship. She is brilliantly played by a blond-wigged Kristen Wiig wearing stilettos, a short, tight skirt, and a perpetually bored expression. He is just as brilliantly played by a be-sweatered, entirely vacant Jason Sudeikis. Both are sadly familiar.

Two A-Holes are shown in a variety of settings acting rude, demanding, and infuriatingly clueless. They’re hilarious until you meet them in person, as I did, at that great equalizer of all humanity, the line at the U.S. Post Office and Lunch Hour Detention Center.

With about a dozen people in line behind them, these Two A-Holes remained oblivious of everyone around them while “She” pondered the available stamp selections, asking which “He” preferred.

“I dunno, babe,” he responded. “What do you think?” (OMGod! The
SNL
couple says the same thing! Were there hidden cameras somewhere?)

She kept smacking her gum and flipping back her long blond hair
like it was her job
while we all waited and seethed in silence.

“Baaaaabe,” she talk-whined loud enough for all to hear. “Who’s Dinah Shore? Huh? Dinah Shore?”

This stamp-selection bit went on for longer than it took for me to buy my last car. The best part? When a second postal clerk finally appeared, she sashayed over to his window and asked to buy a money order, thus blocking both lines.

This type of blatant asshattery is a huge breach of waiting-in-line etiquette.

When standing in line, most of us realize that We Are All in This Together, so there’s a general vibe that you don’t screw it up for everybody else if you can help it.

It is highly recommended and encouraged that, if you encounter this sort of rudeness, you may roll your eyes, sigh very heavily and frequently, mutter things like “Christ on a cracker, wouldja get on with it already!” and, finally, as I did recently, just let it all out there and say in a loud, firm voice:
“Move!”

Yeah, I did.

It’s funny how people look at you like you’re the crazy one when you do something like that.

Like asking somebody when you first meet them, “Hey, how much money do you make?” it’s just completely unexpected.

“Move!”
A one-word sentence that conveys the absolute frustration and borderline homicidal rage you’re feeling will yield immediate results.

So shocked by what I did, the offender did, in fact, move. Sometimes, etiquette demands that you fall on the metaphorical sword for everyone in line behind you. I was fairly hoisted upon everyone’s shoulders like that little kid in the Old El Paso taco shell commercial when I said
“Move!”

I could feel the love of everyone in the line behind me. I had given voice to the voiceless, and hell, maybe I’d get my own stamp along with Dinah Shore, whoever the hell that was.

Question: I’ve been the victim of line-jumping. What is an appropriate response to this sort of rude behavior?

Ah, yes. The line-jumper. I’ve seen this in venues as diverse as the line at the K&W Cafeteria (a Southern staple also rather uncharitably known as “Canes & Wheelchairs” because of its elderly clientele) and the line to the T-shirt concession at a Mumford & Sons concert.

Usually, line-jumpers wave very energetically at someone they know who is waaaaaay up in the line, practically at the congealed lime Jell-O with pears if you’re at K&W. (I’ve always thought the pears look a little trapped in that gelatin, like they’re screaming to get out.…) The fruit salad, as everyone knows, is the real starting point once you get your tray and cutlery from the beefy guy who has
GOOD
and
EVIL
tatted on his knuckles and is wearing a hairnet. (As an aside: You no longer look badass when you’re wearing a hairnet; trust moi.)

At the concert, it was the same. Silly young woman waving semi-hysterically to real or imagined friends at the front of the line. Fortunately, I didn’t have to handle this one on my own. She was told by a guy wearing an
I DIRECT MIDGET PORN
T-shirt that she needed to get to the back of the line where she belonged.

Well played, sir.

So, the answer is you stand up for what’s right and you politely and firmly tell the offender to retreat. Sometimes, if you’re not lucky enough to have a midget porn director in your corner, there will be pouting and pleading. Do not fall for it. If homegirl wanted to get in the front of the line, she should’ve spent less time on her stupid crackle nail polish and headed her scrawny ass down to the concert in a timely fashion.