Honey this and Sweetie that

   Sometimes being treated like a girl is a real insult.
   I used to lift weights.
   I used to lift heavy things.
   I used to not be such a wuss.
    That was all before I was disabled. I’m eight percent permanently disabled from my degenerative disks in my back. Some days it is literally a pain in my ass. I never imagined in my life that I would be disabled at thirty one years old. It’s sad to me.
   This week has been rough. I’ve been painting my house and my back has been really sore from contorting my body into pretzel shapes on a step ladder. I hurt my ankle attempting to run a half marathon last week so I had to take a break from running anyways. Might as well paint my whole house! I painted and painted and painted until there was no paint left to be had and my back was screaming in pain.
    And then I went to work for eight hours a day, covered in red, white and blue paint (Wasn’t attempting to be paint splattered patriotic, it just happened) and bitched none stop that my back hurt, and gloated none stop that was cabin was finally starting to look the way I envisioned it. My back may be sore, but I am happy.
   Until I went to take my trash to the dump, and asked the attendant to lift out the heavy, ugly old vanity mirror from my bathroom I was throwing away, and it was all “Honey” this and “Sweetie” that. I know that old man was just trying to be nice, but I hate feeling like I’m just being treated like a chick. My biceps used to bulge and I was proud of them. Now I just have a pretty painted cabin to be proud of.

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