Bad Mother

I am such a bitch.

Not like the southern belle kind, with ruffly blouses and perfumed hankies, but rather, a real no good forgetting kind of bitch who would slander herself to Sunday, under the watchful eyes of best friends, and holy water, and pretendin' the credit card statements got lost in the mail.

Not only am I a bitch, but I am extremely good at it.

You have to do what you have to do. Thank goodness my husband is too damned stupid to recognize a minus sign as a "credit", that is, amount of monies deducted from your account thusly, yet I am able to persuade this transaction as a measure the banks takes to balance our debt in a fashion to save us money in the competitive market of lending.

What?!!!

So now you know my secret. Tell the husband how your gambling is far advantageous to the well being of your financial balance sheet, how the bottom line is insignificant to the well being of the spender.

Trouble is, we all spend. We spend lots of money. And the more we spend, the happier we get. Or do we?

The kids get more spoiled, they expect more and more and more. We have created a lifestyle for them, for their friends, for the community at large. We have created a monster.

Yet we cannot control this monster because....

because the monster is gambling.