the best looking girls are staying inside

I make stuff out of wool and really fantastic mistakes. I love dogs, kids, Gatorade, and lip gloss. I'm knitterplease on twitter, tumblr, and gmail. You can ask me stuff here.

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  • 17 Jan
    11:08 pm

    tt

    I remember one time my ex-husband got mad because one of the members at the gym he works at threw a fit because she wanted to drop her kids off in the nursery to take a class and she couldn’t because she hadn’t scheduled a slot and the nursery was full. He said, “Seriously? That’s the worst thing that happened to you today?” And I replied, “Maybe it is. Who are you to say? Or maybe she just found out that her husband is banging someone else, and she really needed to work out to blow off steam, and now she can’t because she’s got her kids and her husband is off banging someone else and she doesn’t have a babysitter she can call on short notice. Either way, her feelings are valid. That doesn’t mean they’re your responsibility.”

    Sometimes people complain to me about shit that I think is stupid, and I want to scream at them. I want to shake people whose lives look, to me, on the surface, to be enviably easy.

    But I swallow that impulse, every time. Because if the worst thing that happened to you today is that you had to clean a toilet, or go to work when you had the sniffles, or drink off-brand cola, or you were late to spinning class, or whatever, it doesn’t matter if I can’t relate. It doesn’t matter if I think you have it easy. What matters is that you need to get it off your chest, you need comfort. So I try to remember that one time I said something smart, because I was right.

    I don’t like to complain (I know. I know. I really don’t, though). I don’t like when other people complain. I like to celebrate the little moments that make life bearable, even joyful. But I also like having a place where I can rant and whine about my crazy sister and my old Dad and how downright broken and miserable I feel sometimes. And a lot of the time, I know just how trivial and shallow my complaints seem. And I’m certain some of you read my shit and you’re like, “Whatever, princess. Call me when you have actual problems.” And that’s okay. I don’t care. I just want you all to know I celebrate your right to bitch, even if it seems trivial.

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