Apropos of nothing, I am sitting here thinking about my favorite insults from friends.

The incidence of people referring to me as “hussy” has increased exponentially since my divorce. Not because I actually am a hussy (alas!), but because the ex’s version of taking the high road was to make some reference to my perceived impurity at every possible opportunity. And so it has become something of a joke to call me that. Want to make me giggle? Call me a hussy. Want to make me snort? Call me a wanton hussy. Oh, the shame.

One night when I was bemoaning my idiocy over something or other to my true love Kira, I kept saying “I’m such a MORON” and Kira–in her infinite wisdom–calmly replied, “You’re not a moron, you just don’t always bring your brains to the table.” Truer words never were spoken. And the mental image of my brains accidentally left behind in the bathroom drawer with my hairbrushes and mascara doesn’t hurt, either.

And let’s not forget that I am the very meanest Mama in the whole entire world. I’m rotten! Dastardly! Inhuman! How my children have survived my horrible parenting will be a mystery for the ages. And it’s all worth it just to listen to them first accuse me and then harumph, “You’re not supposed to laugh when I say that!”

Two weeks ago I helped my friend Marcey paint her kitchen, and last night we finally put up the wallpaper border and finished the job. A border isn’t a big deal; in the grand scheme of all the work we did in there, it was inconsequential. But somehow we did seem to have more than our share of instances where we were both standing on chairs, wrangling dripping border and passing various tools (the level, an exacto knife, the smoothing tool) back and forth to the colorful commentary that often accompanies trying to hang something straight in a house which is not. About the time Marcey realized she had wallpaper paste in her hair, she exclaimed, “Well this is just great. This should be the easiest job in the world and here we are, Dumbass and Dumbassier, screwing it up!” I waited until we had the border up and then requested that she call me Dumbassier as often as possible because it has a very elegant ring to it.

I wonder if I can find a job opening for a Dumbassier Wanton Hussy Mean Mama Who Didn’t Bring Her Brains To the Table…?