Nothing is better than a Good woman.

-
“What is better than wisdom? Woman. And what is better than a good woman? Nothing.”

There is nothing better than a good woman. Whether she is black, white, Hispanic, Asian or Indian, a man is lucky if he can find a good woman.

What makes a good woman?

There are so many things that could make up a good woman.  I wouldn’t dare touch that question.  In some minds I may not be a good woman.
I searched the internet and found so many lists of what a good woman should be. I was amazed.

Now…

Would it be conceited of me to say my husband could not find a better woman?

Would it be vain to say that I’m the shit?

Maybe so but who gives a fuck!  Not this woman!

My husband is fucking lucky that he found a woman like me. I cook, I clean, I wash his dirty clothes, I had his beautiful daughters, I take care of his beautiful daughters and I still find time to be a freak in the bed.

I would die for him and I would sacrifice everything to make sure he is happy. I would choke a bitch for him (just fair warning).

I used to be a little bit insecure.  But then I realized that if he decided to cheat on me with someone else, it would hurt and I might be tempted to fucking kill him but in the end I’m the shit and it is his loss.

I let my husband attend strip clubs. Why? Because I know that he is coming home to me in an incredibly horny mood. Shit, I would go with him and have some fun myself. 

I know that my husband is going to read this and he is gonna say…

“Hey, you’re lucky too. You found a good man.”

And he is right. I am lucky that I found a good man. He has a great job, he works hard so that I can stay home and write. He is a great father and he fights everyday to keep me and his daughters happy. I couldn’t ask for a better man.

With that being said…

I still say he is the lucky one.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Erotic Housewife Checks IN: The Depression of a Writer

-
“You cannot be a good writer of serious fiction if you are not depressed.” ~Kurt Vonnegut Jr We all know the old stereotypes of the tortured artist, the alcoholic writer. They play into the belief that artistic creative types seem to be more depressed or are more susceptible to mental illness than the average person. Those old stereotypes may not have been too far off from many famous authors, poets and painters. When you think of Hemingway, Poe, Keats, Proust and Van Gogh, you don’t always think of their genius. More often than not you also think about their lives and how each one obviously suffered from some mental illness or depression. it almost makes depression seem glamorous, yet it isn’t glamorous to the person that suffers from it. I know from experience. I am not ashamed say that on occasion I suffer from depression. Okay…more often than that. It is something that has plagued me for quite a long time. As long as I can remember, I never understood it. When I...
More Craziness!

I is for...

-
Image
I had written and scheduled a post for today for the Writers of Kern Blog challenge, but something happened this morning and I just had to write about it.   is for... Incomprehensible “You never know how quickly a life can be taken away until you see for your own eyes…” In 7 th grade I remember playing in the gym with my friends only to look over and see a 6 th grader sitting against a window alone. He looked really familiar and then it hit me. That 6 th grader looking so out of place was my uncle, Willie Cobb Jr. Born 4 days before me, he was the son of my Grandfather Willie Cobb Sr. (half black and Native American) and Dora Santana ( Mexican) I know it sounds strange but my mother’s youngest brother was my age. It was difficult growing up to see him as my uncle… but he was. I walked over to him and sat down. I ditched my friends because he was family and he was alone. He had just transferred to my school unbeknownst to me and I...
More Craziness!

P is for...

-
Image
is for...Parenting “Mommy what’s for dinner?” Said my 5-year-old “Food!” I answered exasperated. That was question number 20 in under five minutes and 10 were, “What’s for dinner?” I shake my head thinking that my mother cursed me. She told me just like she told my other sisters that she could not wait for us to have kids so we can get a taste of our own medicine. She was right. I received mind tenfold. You see, I was a talker. I was an extreme motor mouth if you will. Everyone I met or encountered in my life has discovered that I have the gift of gab. Motor mouth. That is what they call me. But that word would not begin to describe my 5-year-old. Those are the moments when I feel that parenting is hard. Very hard. I grew up with lots of brothers and sisters and when the older ones started having kids, me and my two younger sisters were the designated babysitters. When my sister worked midnights, I would get up in the middle of the night...
More Craziness!