Midlife And Treachery

…than just me. (Channelling my inner Lewis Black for this post, and if you don’t know him, go here and buy stuff, because he *is* my [able male ] EEEEvvvill Twin. For those who can stomach vulgarity, rage, and a twisted sort of optimism I reccomend the “Back on Broadway” and “Red White and Sc****d DVD’s highly.  But, I digress…)

The disabled are right out there judging the able’s daily antics, both good and bad.

I’m going to repeat that slowly, just so it penetrates.

We judge you just as often as you judge us.

Just because you’ve decided *we’re* invisible doesn’t mean we have to return the favor.

We all know how the able judge us.  Not all abled.  Just some.

Them [and perfect f*****g strangers do this:]  “It’s so *nice* to see you out today!”

Me: [inside my head] It’d be nice to see you out today too, except for the ugly shorts, the bad hat and the perennial nosy streak.

Or the “There but for the grace of Gawd,” crowd.

“You’re one of God’s ’special people,’ and I wanted you to know that!”

Um, no that would be a televangelist

With subsets of, “Won’t it be *wonderful* when you get to heaven and you can throw those crutches away? “

Only if heaven comes with a set of black high heels to go with the little black dress and a benefit plan that includes a charming, goodlooking, smart, charismatic Eternal Tour Guide.  You know, the important stuff.

Or the ones who cannot hide a visceral reaction, a revulsion at the sight of of our differences, and have the gall to publish things, people like Peter Singer.

Yes, well you can’t stand to look at us, and we can’t abide listening to you.  We’ve pooled a bit of our benefit money and purchased a one way trip ticket to Antarctica. Now go the f**k away.

And Clint, [yes, Mr. Eastwood I'm speaking to you]  you’re too rich to heed our call to ‘go away,’ even though you once told us to go away. [How messed  up is that?]

Just go to your corner and make films, like a good little ego.

The chain smokers with the big offices that ran the health insurer. (And the rank and file who went out at 10 and 3 every day for a smoke break.  Hell of a way to promote ‘health,’

Quietly standing behind a buncha bigwigs in an elevator whilst they discourse about golf.

Golf.  Is *that* the most fun you have?  No wonder you’re scared of single payor/public option healthcare.  Playing too many rounds of golf has destroyed your initiative, your entrepreneurial spirit, not to mention your soul…

And honestly…just because you’re more likely to get a date than we are doesn’t guarantee long term success.

All that drama of the teens/20’s/30’s.  You divorce them anyway for a different model, or the relationships simply implode for lack of effort, like that piece of gum you had to chew, but once chewed…thrown away for a fresher piece. We might even see the signals coming, since we have more time to watch, and if some of you are our friends we might say to you “Look this epic romance is about  to blow the he!! up, because of X and Y, so if you want to save it you might want to rethink your trajectory.”

Wherein you, judging us by the number and frequency of our romantic successess, say, inside your heads:

“WTF are you talking about, imfunny2, you have no clue that this one, this one is forever!”

And three weeks later they call you because you’re the only one they can talk to about their recent romantic implosion.

I rest my case.