Emilie
The definition of my Bitchiness was put onto my slender shoulders
early, and always by others, then as now.
"What's his name?" was the most common question my mother got about me. I
wore sixties dresses, and was a blonde.
How should I have known, that it was Heartless Bitchiness when mother asked
what my little boyfriend and I, the wildest girl on the block, had been
playing:
"Castle!"
"So you are the princess then, and he is the prince?"
I, a girl of some three years, was totally astounded by this question. I
answered:
"No! He is the doorman".
That didn't make me the princess. It was just an economic way of sharing
the work at my cliff castle, where we constantly had to fend off our fiends from
other blocks, and he and I were both perfectly happy with our respective titles.
Of course I was the princess, what else? I was the boss, quite
simply.
The doorman may have been in love with his mistress, though, how should I
know? We didn't check each other's panties to find out. We rather went out
to beat each other up, heartily.
That is something I felt was hilarious even later in my grown-up life. Once
I was found fighting a very good, male, highly intelligent, but not in any
cliché-way good-looking friend of mine, behind the bar of a science-fiction
congress in Gothenburg, just for the fun of it.
I strongly recommend that form of gender communication!
We almost laughed our brilliant heads off, as they didn´t crack up. That
would have been a pity, indeed, we were both so utterly young; hardly thirty
years of age. Great stuff, that sort of civilized conversation, we both
looked like three-year old catchers, our bleeding rags torn a bit, we were told.
But I am certain it improved our intellectual capability through shaking those
three contents up, a bit. Much better than sex, if you ask me!
I was born that way, what am I to do, but join you?
Country: Germany
Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches
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