Happy 50th Birthday Bitch
I am fifty today. I know it’s no big deal but I think to myself, Buckle up, bitch, you just hit fifty.
I only recently started to refer to myself as “bitch.”
My two daughters, ages fourteen and nineteen, talk to each other that way. They say things like, “You’re a bad-ass bitch.” Then the other one says, “Thank you sissy ho.” These are compliments.
At first, this really bothered me. Growing up, “bitch” and “ho” were bad words. Since I don’t like when my kids use profanity, I would get mad when I heard the girls call each other these names. Then my 14-year-old started answering my calls by saying, “What up Momma Bitch?”
I said, “I prefer to be called Mom.”
Later, I noticed she changed my contact name in her iPhone to: Bitch, Call Me Mom.
When I reminded my daughters that fifty was around the corner, the youngest said, “Bitch you’re a queen” and the oldest said, “ Mom, that’s dank,” (dank is good.) I said, “Thank you my hos,” and smiled. If you can’t beat ’em, join ‘em.
So I ask myself what does it mean to be fifty? My answer is hemorrhoids. I don’t have them or want them…but that’s what comes to mind when I think of fifty.
I also think: sexy, and freedom, and old, and grandma in assisted living, and kids leaving home, and…
