Pity is Underrated

I've always despised pity. I don't want people to feel sorry for me, even if I'm conducting a full-scale pity party of my own. I want you to understand, but I don't want your pity. And I hate to listen to people whine about the same things over and over. (However, I to like to "discuss" the fact that I can't seem to lose an ounce of weight over a plate of cheese fries and cold beer.)
I like to vent to my friends and Lord (and those sweet friends) know I complain and vent alot. But I really, really, really don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. It makes me feel weak and it's embarassing.
Buuuuut, in the last few days, I may have changed my position. Last Friday, I was a bit hormonal and completely lost my mind because I couldn't leave the house to get a diet Coke. First of all, I go days without a diet Coke. We had been out for over a week. It rarely bothers me to NOT get a diet Coke. It's bad for you and I need more water anyway. But this day, I had a headache, all four kids were crying (my two, plus the two I babysit) and I was tired. And I wanted a diet Coke. Once I realized I couldn't leave to even run through Sonic (Hello? 4 car seats in a Toyota Highlander? Not happening) to get one, I broke down. I felt sorry for me. My husband called and I actually cried. I'm not proud of this, people, but I'm all about full disclosure when it comes to me being an ass.
Anyway, it was a long day without diet Coke. I finally got one after gymnastics around 4:30.
I didn't tell my friends about it until after the fact because, well, it's stupid. Plus, what do I want them to do? I mean, what do you say when your friend calls and says "I'm so mad I can't go get a Coke?" I mean, talk about putting someone on the spot. I know my sweet friends and I know any of them would have said "I'll bring you one" and I just couldn't handle that.
But, me being me, I have to tell every mundane detail of my life to anyone who will listen, so I mentioned it a few times over the weekend. Mostly to say how ridiculous I was, but also to let everyone know that I am HOME WITH FOUR BABIES ALL DAY EVERY DAY AND AM TRAPPED AT HOME which is my choice and I could stop at any time. But it's much more fun to play the martyr (read that last line with sarcasm) and whine.
I felt like a tool acting so pitiful, but you know what? I kind of think it's paying off. Yesterday at play group, all the other moms were scrambling around trying to help me clean things up, when we have a standing rule that it's your house, your mess. Then, this morning, I mentioned to my friend Jennifer that I was out of my appetite suppressants and wasn't going to get them until this evening. Guess what she did? She went and picked them up and brought them to me. Along with a Skinny Vanilla Latte.
And my other friend, Kealey, called me on her way to Michael's to buy craft stuff for a turkey disguise we have to do as a school project and asked if I wanted her to pick something up for me.
So I'm thinking...if you have really, really nice friends who will offer to do just about anything for you, go ahead and use pity to your advantage.

So here we go...this morning, I did full sit-ups on the cement and scraped the skin off of my boo-tay. It hurts bad. I probably need one of those donuts to sit on. Or maybe I need some alcohol. The drinking kind, not the rubbing kind.
Also, as I was getting out of the shower, my angel-baby, Rhett laughed out loud and pointed at my saggy boobs swinging around as I toweled off. So I need a boob job. But I can't afford one unless I keep about 12 more kids and that, my friends, ain't gonna happen.

There you have it. I need new boobs, vodka, and a donut for my bottom. Do what you will with that information. And feel free to pity me. If only because I'm a loser who writes about diet Coke and skinned butt cheeks on a website.