Get Outta My Personal Space

 

There are a couple of alter-egos who share my personal space and whose voices I spend a lot of time trying to mute/censor/edit.

The first is The Uncensored Broad (TUB).  She is likely to say anything to anyone at anytime.  She says the things I only think about saying, and would probably only say under the influence of at least 3 margaritas (rocks, with salt, thank you very much).  She’s a hoot.  She looks like Maxine, and her voice sounds a lot like Lewis Black.  I like her, usually, unless she takes over and gets my butt in trouble before I can stuff the words back into her mouth.

My second persona is Certifiably-Hot Unrecognizable Babe (CHUB).  CHUB is the hot mama that lives with me in this aging shell.  She remembers what it was like to be young, pretty, and desirable.  She would, if offered the options, choose sex over chocolate chip cookies.  She bemoans the fact that we have become quite round, white-haired, forgetful and nearly blind…in other words, invisible in our youth-obsessed society.  She also bemoans that fact that these days chocolate chip cookies ARE offered more frequently than sex.  She advocates for surgeries – gastric, plastic, and drastic.  Fortuntely, She is easily quieted, and if she does manage to speak her mind, people hear the voice but can’t figure out where it is coming from…after all, that kind of language wouldn’t come out of that sweet little granny over there.  I like her, but wish she’d come to terms with aging.

Recently, one of my students  explained that she often missed class because she couldn’t afford a babysitter for her children.  She showed me a picture of her 4 children and her live-in boyfriend, who looked sort of like Blake Shelton, if you squinted (a little), had been drinking (a lot) and you overlooked his rather large ears. Our conversation went something like this.

ME:  Cute kids.

TUB: Yeah, great looking litter.

CHUB:  He’s hot. What time is your class?  I’ll babysit.

ME:  There are some services offered by the college to help you with child care.  Here’s a brochure.

TUB:  You can’t afford a babysitter?  I know you smoke because you reek of nicotine, you’ve got a new tattoo, those highlights in your hair weren’t put there by Mother Nature, and your freakin’ fake nails are freshly done.  We’re paying for your stinking education, and probably supporting your entire household, yet you can’t even bother to show up because you can’t afford a baby sitter?  Why can’t Dumbo watch the spawn while you try to “improve” yourself?  You probably can’t afford a CLUE, either, can you?

CHUB:  He looks like Blake Shelton (did I mention that we are nearly blind and really like margaritas?).  What time is your class again?

Here’s another conversation, this time with my beloved Sweet Cheeks.

ME:  What do you want for dinner?

SWEET CHEEKS:  I don’t care.

TUB: Of course you don’t care, you think food is prepared by the food fairy.  For the last 31 years food just magically appeared in front of you at fairly regular intervals.  Do you know how impossible it is to figure out what YOUR sorry ass wants for dinner?  Why don’t YOU make dinner, Bucko?  The only thing you know how to make is reservations, that’s why.

CHUB (slyly):  I know something you could have….

ME:  Okay, I’ll see what I can put together.

SWEET CHEEKS:  Whatever you come up with will be fine.  I’m easy.

TUB:  Hah! Easy?  Sure, as along as it isn’t a fruit, or a vegetable, or most seafood or anything even remotely healthy for you – you’re easy all right you beer-guzzlin’, pizza-snarfin’, sausage-chompin’ slug.

CHUB:  (again, slyly with batted eye-lashes) Easy? now you’re talking!  I can think of a couple of things that could be put together….

SWEET CHEEKS:  Do we have any chocolate chip cookies?

Sometimes it takes a lot of effort to keep those two quiet.

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6 Comments

Filed under General Mumblings, humor

6 responses to “Get Outta My Personal Space

  1. We women have the TUBs and the CHUBs in all of us. 🙂 Love this post …

  2. Funny post, K8edid. CHUB and TUB cracked me up! ~ Lenore

  3. TUB and CHUB–did they give themselves those names or did you?

    • Well, Lord knows I’d never label anyone with such unflattering labels. Let’s just say they made their presence known over the years and I had to call them something…TUB really has a pretty foul mouth so I have to watch her closely. She’s accepted her (our) life and speaks fluent sarcasm. CHUB refuses to accept her (our) aging process. I think in every menopausal woman there is part of the brain saying “YESSSSSSSS” and another screaming “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”.

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