I want to be Queen Betsy. Without having to die first, of course. But with the awesome shoe collection, naturally. What the hell am I blathering on about, you may wonder?  Well, I spent my weekend nursing my psychic wounds after a week of feeling like everyone was out to get me and reading the Queen Betsy series by MaryJanice Davidson. These books are a hoot, not to mention hot (Eric Sinclair definitely makes my Man Crush Monday short list). And they are fun and quick and totally capable of distracting me from all my woes. What these books didn’t do, unfortunately, was dissuade me from my recurring fantasies concerning all of the people with whom I’d like to share a piece of my mind.  Or maybe more than a piece. After all, I’m practically a genius and I’m sure I can spare it for a worthy cause. Just ask me.  🙂

I love the way Betsy tells people off. I’m sure it’s not polite to be impressed by someone who calls other women low-class cows, but if the shoe fits, you should buy that Blahnik, right?  I love that she never pulls her punches and that she always calls people on their bad behavior, even when it’s not socially acceptable or politically correct. I spent way too much time daydreaming about what I could say to all the people who annoyed the living daylights out of me last week and caused me to feel offended and defensive all at the same time, which is a cool trick, you’ve got to admit.

So, I got to enjoy Ms. Davidson’s books not only for their direct entertainment value, but for the vicarious thrill I experienced watching Betsy mouth off to a wide variety of humans and vampires alike–she’s an equal opportunity mouther offer, after all. I was able to burn in effigy all those who hurt my feelings and wallowed in hypocrisy and lived in deep denial about their own significant failings while pointing out all of mine.

But then I had to stop and consider whether I really wanted to turn these particular fantasies into truth. Sure, it took Nalini Singh/Psi- level lockdown not to tell the asshat at the Pentagon to take his White House name- dropping and tell it to someone who hasn’t written briefings for Presidents and Secretaries. As Shania would say, that don’t impress me much.  And it took every ounce of self control I possessed not to return fire with prejudice against the person who informed me my family was deficient because we enjoy our electronic devices a bit too much for her judgmental tastes. And, as I went home and seethed in self-righteous wrath, and read about Queen Betsy to take my mind off my troubles, I had the time to consider my desire to spray it not say it.

With respect to the asshat, I’ve got to ask myself, who cares?  Not me, actually. Poor guy is stuck in a windowless room 16 hours a day. I’m sure that’s got to affect the old brain cells. And name-dropping is probably all he has to show for his vampire-like pallor from all those fluorescent lights. And my judgmental and tactless friend who eschews electronics?  Well, she probably has a point, which is why it pissed me off so much, and why I went home and took away my kids’ cell phones, not to mention my husband’s iPad (can you say Clash of Clans widow?).

So maybe mouthing off shouldn’t be my go-to strategy. Maybe the cost of indulging my inner-Betsy would be too high and totally not worth it. And maybe the way I handled it, in fact, and not in my admittedly-rich imagination, was the way to go:  read the fantasy books to distract myself and use the time to calm the hell down and act in a more considered manner. This way, I can fantasize away without actually endangering anyone else or any of the relationships I value. I think is the definition of a win-win situation. So, while I still want to be Queen (and wouldn’t the world be so much better with me in charge?!), perhaps I don’t really want to be Queen Betsy after all. Queen Anne will do just fine, thank you very much. 

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