1. I Have A Coworker I Don’t Want To Talk To
I don’t want to talk to her. I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO HER! Don’t make me talk to Joyce, please. I don’t care about how her garden is blooming this spring and I don’t care about her son’s elderly foster cat named Mr. Garbage. I’m sure she’ll tell me to “stay in touch” when I leave the office, but try to reach me when I’m in the land of no cell service, girl.
2. There Are No Mass Shootings Out In Cowboy Land
Only mass lootin’s.
3. I Do Not Get Paid Enough
I simply do not get paid enough. All of my work experience is in the field of education; there are no jobs I am qualified for that will make me any more money. My only hope is to live off the land with my kidnapper cowboy. Sure, he’ll never be home and I’ll have to raise our six children by myself, but at least I won’t have to worry about rent. I can live the famous American jaded stay-at-home mom life, but with the extra boost of cow’s milk and horses paying off my mortgage.
4. A Cowboy Will At Least Have A Reasonable Excuse For Not Knowing How To Talk To Women Respectfully
The men around me in the city and its suburbs have no excuse, but Dan McCowBoy only talked to cows, horses, and his mostly absent father growing up. Can you really be mad at him when the extent of his childhood socialization is comparable to that girl that was raised by wolves?
5. Milk is Expensive
Milk is fucking expensive. Let the cows bring me both my free dairy and the ability to skip the long Sunday checkout lines at the local Target.
6. He Probably Doesn’t Know What Covid Is
He was more than likely unaware of it out there in the pastures, leading his lone wolf lifestyle. It’s a lot easier to forgive someone for not masking in public when he hasn’t been in public for the last 25 years. Maybe he isn’t vaccinated, but to be fair, he has a higher risk of catching Mad Cow Disease or the avian flu than catching Covid. Again, without any real socialization, he’s socially distanced by default.
7. There Are No Divorce Lawyers Out In The Wild West, So He Can’t Bleed Me Dry When I Start To Get Gray Hair And Boob Wrinkles
He wants a divorce? Cool, but good luck making it official. You can kick me out of the barn, but I ain’t giving you a cent back. I’m taking the kids and the throw pillows, too—have fun trying to find a courthouse and a human being with a law degree to make me give them back.
8. Manually Washing Laundry Will Suck, But At Least The Machine Can’t Break
The machine? My arms and a clothesline. Until the arthritis gets me, baby, nothing is going to break me and cost me $1600. Sears ain’t gonna hear a thing from me.
9. His Hot Bod
Sure, he’ll probably treat me like dirt, but at least he’ll be hot. I’d rather be told to shut my mouth and get in the kitchen by a muscled, suntanned, hardworking man rather than Matt who manages a Harris Teeters in a stained polo shirt, and can’t even hunt down the ground chicken in his own store, let alone shoot one for dinner.
10. Taxes
Who is gonna tax us out there, the state? Girl, get lost. There’s no public education or hospitals to fund; that shit is run by one depressed mom in a basement and an off duty bartender using cheap vodka and burlap sacks for open bone fractures.
