Women Humor and Rants with Whitley Cox #Womanhood #Manners #RB4U @WhitleyCoxBooks

So yesterday at the gym (sorry this is not book related at all, just an old fashioned rant) after class a few of us were standing around chatting, dripping with sweat, with rosy faces and an overall feeling of accomplishment but also wanting to barf. I'm friends with the instructor and we often talk afterward on the way to our cars, and she texts me when she's not going to be teaching so I don't bother going and just head out for a run instead. Somehow, as we were all getting ready to go, the topic of skin care came up. Now I've always been very honest and open about how I've struggled with temperamental skin all my life, and this week in particular Mother Nature has not been very kind. The curse is upon me, my uterus is angry and I'm borderline homicidal unless I have a heating pad on my stomach and the child is napping.

There were five of us women chit-chatting around, two were in their early fifties, one was twenty-seven, then there was me, thirty-something, and a twenty-two-year-old. The four oldest were bitching and moaning about our skin and how age seems to be creeping up on us in unfair waves. Hormones!?!? AmIright!?!?!! The fifty-year-olds were complaining about menopause while I was griping about saggy boobs and stretch marks. And then because you know, social norms be damned, the twenty-two-year-old decides to say, "I have really nice skin. It's so smooth. And all I use is Clean & Clear and wipes from Costco." We all turned and looked at her, mirror image WTF expressions on our faces. And then, as if completely oblivious to the current tone and topic, she proceeds to educate us on the naturally long length of her lashes. "And my eyelashes are like really long, like, I'm not even wearing any mascara right now, but it looks like I am." What the actual F?!

Way to kick four brood mares ready for the glue factory when we're already down on ourselves, looking like sweaty hot messes. So I turned to her and with the biggest smile and a chuckle in my tenor, and I said, "Fuck you!" Which of course, ignited laughter from the rest and they all nodded and reiterated my proclamation. The little millennial twink just smiled and giggled, meanwhile inside I was seriously contemplating using some of the moves we'd just done in kickboxing and back kicking that pretty little perfect complexion of hers. But no, instead I just laughed again and said, "Enjoy it now, because once you have a kid you'll have stretch marks and your tits'll be knocking your knees. I'd like to see that."

Now don't get me wrong, all in all, she's a nice enough girl. We don't have a lot to talk about when we're standing around waiting for class to start, eight or ten years isn't a huge age gap, but with this chick, I really feel it. But I'm not about to actually drop kick her in the face, I reserve those moves for my real enemies. But come on, read the room, read the topic, read the tone. It's like when I'm sitting with my mommy friends and they are all husband bashing, but on that particular week I actually don't mind the man I married, I'm not going to take a sip of my "tea" (I use tea in quotations, because we all know it's wine) and then say, "My husband is so great, he folds the laundry and unloads the dishwasher and makes sure that my computer has up-to-date virus protection, I just love him so much." Meanwhile, all the other women have been plotting ways to kill their spouses and make it look like an accident. You just don't go there. You just don't do that. You keep your mouth shut, or you make up something lame to contribute to the topic, or lie through your teeth and tell them that your man wears the same pair of underwear four days in a row. You know, benign, but believable.
The same goes for when you're exhausted and growling about how little your kid is sleeping, that they're up multiple times a night and think four thirty is an acceptable time to start the day. When the general consensus in the room is that kids are the devil, don't pipe and be like, "Little Archimedes sleeps from 7 pm until 8 am and never wakes up, and he has a three-hour nap in the afternoon. And he's done this since he was two weeks old." You, my darling, have earned yourself a roundhouse kick to the temple and giant middle finger.

So, if someone smiles, laughs and says, "F*ck you," stop and think, maybe they're not kidding, maybe they mean it, it’s not a joke, and you need to close the hole in your face. Perhaps they’re trying to save you from making a complete and total fool of yourself because what you said, was really rather dickish!
End rant xoxox

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Emma Everly didn’t know true love or happiness until she met enigmatic millionaire James Shaw. He turned her world upside down, all for the better, possessing her heart, body, and soul. He brought her over to the dark and dirty side and opened her eyes to the wild and kinky sex Emma didn’t even know she craved.

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About the Author

A West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart and together they have a spirited toddler and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn’t end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it’s not quite wine o’clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.

A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role playing, these books have everything we need to satisfy the curious kink in all of us.

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