Ever since Sean died I play a game in my head when people complain, and I’ve decided to name it, appropriately so, The Grief Game.
Round 1: Oh, your husband would rather play video games then spend time with you tonight? Gee, that’s rough- mine’s dead. I win.
Round 2: Your husband is away on a business trip for a week and you’re just so stressed out trying to manage the kids and a house? Gosh, you poor thing. You lose.
Round 3: You make jokes about trading in your husband or getting rid of him because he didn’t take out the trash like you asked? I’d give anything in the world to get my husband back. I win, again.
Jesus, I wish I was worse at this game.
Listen, I get it. Everyone has their struggles. I used to bitch about Sean doing something as trivial as putting the toilet paper on backwards (seriously, if you want it the toilet paper folding under- you’re a monster) and is it fair for me to sit back and judge your life all the while throwing myself a giant pity party? No, probably not.
But just know that as your bitching about your husband to me I’m internally screaming and a hair away from throat punching you 🙃 Because the lady with the dead husband 9/10 has it worse than you.