The one that made me believe that maybe I wasn’t such an evil bitch after all?

Well it turns out that I really am a bitch.

But I can live with that.

But now that you’re already thinking less of me…

I secretly hate being “green”.

No, not like with envy (I think it’s rather healthy to want to do violent things to Clive Owen’s wife)… As in crunchy, environmentally, non-destructive, supper-happy-go-hippie green .

I hate being “green”.

There I said it.

I hate being “green”.

There I said it again.

Look, in all honesty, I’m perfectly content turning off the water while I’m brushing my teeth, carrying organic cotton shopping bags, using steam to clean the house rather than harsh chemicals, buying organic, cutting back on the pollution/waste…

Hell, I’m perfectly content only bathing the kids every other day.

I recycle.

I conserve.

I think.

I even really listen to Peter as he goes on and on about global warming rather than just pretending to do so (like I do when he talks about football)…

But, demmit, these freaking lightbulbs are driving me insane.

You know the ones… the little halogens that supposedly last for years, shave hundreds of dollars off of your energy bill, and no doubt will make this world a “better” place?

The ones that, up until a few months ago, were like $8 a piece and well beyond the budget constrictions of a family of five living on one income?

The ones that suddenly got “generic” and are now just pennies more expensive than the regular “earth-hating” bulbs?

The ones that were suddenly sitting on my kitchen table in large quantities because I asked my husband to stop and pick up some lightbulbs for the guest bathroom?

The ones that took my lovely southern-contemporary home and made it look like a hospital?

Yeah, those.

They’re driving me insane.

And, no, not like “coo coo for cocoa puffs” slightly crazy insane…

Like I’m about two inches away from sweetening his tea with rat poison insane.

They’re just soooooo ugly.

And mama don’t do ugly. Well, at least this one doesn’t. Yes, that officially makes me an environment-hating, dog-giver-upping, evil rotten bitchy snob.

They’ve simply got to go… but I can’t reach them.

And now that I’m about to bribe my husband with sexual favors in exchange for him giving up his dream of saving the world and taking the god-awful ugly bulbs down, you can add manipulative slut to that sentence as well.

But I can live with that too.

(Notice that I didn’t even bother to mention my refusal to give-up my dishwasher or my non-desire to start line-drying my unmentionables… But, hey, you can only think so much less of a person in one blog post, eh?)