B is for What a Fucking Bitch

My boss is an epic bitch. I don’t mean like one of those passive aggressive bitches. I mean a full on, in your face, self-proclaimed bitch bitch.

For the most part, I’ve been fortunate enough to not be on the receiving end of her first-class bitchery. I usually witness it from the sidelines, as an anecdote, or just watching her lambast some poor fuck.

Today, that poor fuck was me. And I almost let her have it, right in front of her precious little committee. Fucking committees. I’m a fucking committee person now. Why couldn’t I be a gangsta? Huh?

I digress.

The skinny little cunt insulted me in front of her favorite little pet committee. Repeatedly. Had I done anything wrong? Au contraire. She’s pissed off because someone else is leaving the company, so she’s taking it out on those closest to her. And as her rightfuckinghand, I’m the closest one at work to take it out on.

If she keeps the shit up, I’m gonna volley Little Miss Former DA’s shitstorm right back at her. She thinks I’m sweet and quiet. She has no idea what simmers beneath the surface (and boils on days like today).

I can hang with her on most days. And at least I didn’t take it personally – like getting upset or crying or thinking I was a fuck-up. I just got pissed. I’m mostly calm now. Mostly.

Good thing the weekend cometh. There’s a cider or three with my name on it.