Fag Hag Diary

Who is this bitch anyway? 


The Faggy was on the receiving end of a bit of lip from darling Fag Hag Niece the other day. There we were, gathering round Fag Hag Mum’s knotted pine table, preparing to tuck into the big old joint (well, she was knocking round in the sixties bless her) when the time came to take our seats.Fag Hag Niece narrowed her eyes as she weighed up the seating possibilities. ‘I don’t want to sit next to HER,’ she hissed to Fag Hag Brother-in-Law, pointing over to where I was sitting. Fag Hag Brother-in-Law started coughing loudly. Fag Hag Sister pretended to suddenly look very interested in the cuticles on her nails.

I’m still trying to work out two days later what heinous crime I had committed in order to be off the Christmas card list of an 8-year-old… OK so I once made her sit through Mean Girls, which made her cry (well it was a 15 and she was 4 at the time). And I did teach her the lyrics to ‘U.G.L.Y you aint got no alibi, you ugly’ which got her in serious trouble with a ginger friend. But other than that I’m clean  – I ain’t harmed a hair on girlfren’s head.

It took a mere twenty minutes for her to perform a complete volte face. ‘Hey there E!’ she simpered, sidling up to me like a lap-dancer eyeing a Microsoft inventor’s wallet. And then she swiped a brownie from off my plate before giving me a surreptitious kiss and disappearing.
Hang on, this sounds familiar. Humiliating me in public, taking the sweet stuff and then doing a runner leaving me high and dry? Oh yes, it’s my entire relationship history.

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One comment to “Fag Hag Diary”

  1. The F-word is horrible. Call yourself a fruit fly. It’s much less offensive.

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