You know when you’re bored in the afternoon so you take buzzfeed quizzes? Liar–you do too!
“What Kind of a Bitch Are You?” appears. The teaser features Angelina the Homewrecker. The “B” word is forefront in my mind as the business advisor/mentor/torturer/critic says I’m afraid of being thought of as a bitch in business. She says I play small and need to be more calculating, sharp and alert.
For the first time in life I’m not being called a bitch and the result is flummox and insult. She says I am timid and wear a mask.
And there it is. The widow thing. I should give lessons in widow crap. When you lose your right arm, your pal and the guy who swore your makeup-free face was not frightening, the world sneaks up on you. People never say the biggest hit to those who lose a loved one is confidence.
Painting on a face is habit. You artfully sketch it on in those first days because falling to the ground wailing gets you nowhere but a psychiatrist’s office. The mask created so expertly, paired with telling people all is well is such a constant you actually believe it. Until you are called upon to actually do something, like a job or taxes or tire rotation.
You forget your bitch. Acceptable anger includes money, the house, the details that keep you awake sweating in the night. It does not include the level of bitch it takes to kick ass in your career and not give a damn. It’s important to be nice lest people think you’re not okay. Have you met a really bitchy widow? It’s not polite to tell people you want to gouge out their eyes because they’re happy.
The level of bitch rumbling just below the surface is so vast, she’s better buried than unleashed. Inside she’s alive and well. She doesn’t come to play as often due to her tether. And then one day, some chick tells you you’re not bitchy enough. You’re timid and playing the game small. Your inner bitch would like to punch her in the face but you know she’s right.
What’s a girl to do? Take a highly scientific test on a pop website calculating your actual level of bitch.
Questions are simple enough.
Who needs to be slapped? Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber, Kim and Kanye or Piers Morgan?
Easy–Justin Bieber. Miley has taken her naked show on the road so many times nobody cares. Kim and Kanye? Nobody’s got time for Kanye’s after-rant. Piers Morgan? He may like a little slap now and again. That leaves Justin. Why? Public peeing. Any guy who pees in a mop bucket, puts a hat on backwards, drops his drawers around his ankles and claims to have slept with Miranda Kerr deserves a bitch slap.
Try this one. What is your signature look? Shade, side eye, eye roll or resting bitchy face.
Since all but resting bitchy face can be accomplished by a five-year-old, it’s definitely resting face. It takes a special kind of confidence not to force a smile.
Pick a role model: Maleficent, Mystique, Regina George or the Wicked Witch of the West?
Fail. No mention of Anna Wintour, Joan Crawford, Bette Davis or Cher? Pfft.
What does the test reveal? “You are the baddest bitch around. You laugh in the face of danger and then kick it in the balls.”
Better get a new pair of Louboutins.