That's My Bix!

Weetabix’s Uterus: Grrrrrrr! I hate the world!!!

Weetabix: Stop it or I’ll take another Advil.

Weetabix’s Uterus: By the way, did you see how the real Jack and Jennifer are back on Days of Our Lives? See? I told you that you should quit your job and stay home and watch soap operas and clean the house.

Weetabix: No.

Weetabix’s Uterus: What kind of wife are you anyway? You need to clean the house more.

Weetabix: Shut up. I have a life too.

Weetabix’s Uterus: Grrrr. Real women balance a career, a clean home, exercise, cooking, lots of man loving, AND a scintillating crafty hobby. Do you think that Martha Stewart bandies about on the Internet? No. She’d make a tastefully coordinated basket liner to organize her pale green panties. You need to organize your panties… and the rest of your house too. When was the last time you scrubbed the top of the water heater in the basement? Huh? Those Q-tips you put in the jar in the bathroom closet are all crooked too. You suck, bitch.

Weetabix: Taking an Advil now.

Weetabix’s Uterus: I’d rather have a chocolate covered pretzel. Or maybe three pints of Chubby Hubby ice cream. Or maybe you could just mix up a couple of pounds of sugar with a shaker of salt and eat that with a big spoon?

Weetabix: How about a Diet Coke?

Weetabix’s Uterus: How about we have a baby? A nice good-smelling baby?

Weetabix: (covering her ears) La la la la la.

Weetabix’s Uterus: Yes. A baby is what we really want. A cute googly-eyed baby that will make cute noises and smell like baby shampoo. Think of how happy you’d make Ward and June? And presents! You’d get presents! Like changing tables and Desitin! And then we could decorate one of the spare bedrooms into a nursery! I love to decorate! Decorating rocks! I’m the queen of decorating! And then we could name it something really cool. Like Jebediah.

Weetabix: That’s really… uh… different.

Weetabix’s Uterus: Or Lauren if it’s a girl. I like Lauren.

Weetabix: I like Lauren too. But we’re not having a baby.

Weetabix’s Uterus: Does your husband love you? Maybe you should check to see if your husband loves you. You know, he didn’t seem all that interested in the cute clothes we bought. Maybe he really thinks you’re a troll and is just being polite. I told you that you should have married Donnie Osmond. Remember that time three years ago when Esteban didn’t do the dishes even though he said he would and snapped at you when you asked him when he was going to do it? He still hasn’t apologized for that. You should bring that up to him and see what he says. Make that fucker pay for what he put you through three years ago.

Weetabix: I hate you.

Weetabix’s Uterus: You know, you really should look more like Britney Spears. You need to weigh 90 pounds. And dye your hair blonde. And wear high heels. You wear “I get no sex” shoes. And giggle more. Don’t act so smart. And have a baby. Stop slouching. You need to go tanning too. You’re very pale. Like flour. Pasty white flour legs. No one likes you, you know. They think you’re a Heather.

Weetabix: I’m not a Heather. You are.

Weetabix’s Uterus: Damn right I am and don’t you forget it.

Weetabix: By the way, thanks for the cut this morning. I was shaving my legs in the shower and you cramped up right then and now I have a lovely nick on my ankle.

Weetabix’s Uterus: You don’t take me seriously enough. I wouldn’t have cut you if we had a baby.

Weetabix: Um… answer’s still no.

Weetabix’s Uterus: Fine, bitch, then expect more bloodshed. And maybe you shouldn’t be sleeping on those expensive 300-thread white sheets, huh? I mean, you just don’t take me seriously enough.

Weetabix: You wouldn’t.

Weetabix’s Uterus: You know I would, cellulite butt. I think you need to do a few more neck exercises, you know. You’ve got a lot of double chin action going on there… no, wait… there are three of them. You know, I’m in the mood for some soothing Celine Dion ballads.

Weetabix: Bluck.

Weetabix’s Uterus: (singing) Love… soft as an easy chair! (stops singing and yells) FUCK EVERYONE!!!!! AAAAHHHH! I HATE EVERYONE!!!! YOU ALL SUCK!!!

Weetabix: How about two Oreo flavored Jell-O pudding cups?

Weetabix’s Uterus: With chocolate chips mixed in for texture? And then use it as dip for potato chips.

Weetabix: Whatever.

Weetabix’s Uterus: Then let’s eat a bucket of fried chicken!

Weetabix: You’re pushing it now.

Weetabix’s Uterus: Don’t toy with me, bitchtard. Me and my posse will take you OUT!!!! I’ll make you cry at work because Hissyfit is not going to have forums anymore! Don’t think I won’t do it! You’re going to write about this on your diary, aren’t you? You know, the day that diarists have a conversation with a body part is the day that they jump the shark. You’ll have no readers anymore. Everyone will think you’re a feminazi. A fat pasty white feminazi who hates babies.

Weetabix: (sigh)