And the Tree Was Unhappy

I'm going to take a cue from a MOG I recently worked with, and look at this upcoming nightmare of a wedding the way she looked at her son's wedding... she was just going to get through it. So, that's what I am going to do. I am just going to get through it. I AM JUST GOING TO GET THROUGH IT. Because I am so done. I don't care. I feel like the fucking giving tree (The Giving Tree, Shel Silverstein), and right now I am down to a teeny tiny stump with absolutely nothing left to give. Actually, if I had any branches left, I'd use them to the whack the bitch, and completely fuck her over by quitting the day before her wedding.

Yes, you've heard about this bridey before (I Hate Everything About You, Bitch! You're Fired!, etc. etc.), and although I am pretty fucking cool, occasionally I misjudge, and I take on a client that I was never meant to work with. But, actually I didn't really have a choice with this one because it was a referral... A referral from a trusted source (who I will now hate for simply knowing this bitch). Because most of my business is predominately referral (and reputation) based, I was somewhat screwed from the beginning. And if I had to analyze the situation (and myself), I would tell you that I would have "fired the bitch" like a year ago, but because of her connections to connections, families who know important people, public image, etc. etc., I can't, and she can't know that I hate her either; and she doesn't. But, that my friends has taken THIS bitch a lot of work.

I can still hate her though. In fact, I hate her so much that I seethe just thinking about her. I cringe with every email, and I want to slit my writs with every call. If this were just some bitch bride who didn’t know “people”, I would have called it quits a long time ago. Hell I would have returned ALL of her money so that she’d just go the fuck away (if I didn’t already spend it on shoes and booze). Seriously, I feel like I am her project, and this wedding is the subject and once it is over, she'll move on to obsessing about either getting pregnant, the pregnancy (and how hers is SO different from every other woman in the fucking world), and finally the baby (OMG, poor kid). 

But, no matter what, my head will be held high, my shoes will be awes, and I will be struttin’ my stuff with a hand-picked team of pure fucking fabulousness, and we will rock this fucking wedding. Cause as I said before… I just have to get through it. Stump and all…