Maripat Robison

Maripat Robison
HEAVILY RETOUCHED PHOTO

Mar 22, 2018



It's Not Me, It's You



I’ve been considering this break-up for some time. Surely you noticed I’ve been pulling away?


It started so well. You showed me everything I wanted to see, with no surprises. I felt heard, and if not loved, at least I was liked, a LOT. And the connection kept growing, beyond what I ever believed possible.

Then you changed. Remember? You started withholding things you gave me in the start. You stopped showing me what I wanted, and forced me to do everything YOUR way. You said it was what you thought I wanted, but you never asked, not once.


Do I have a part? Who cares? You cheated on me, and 50 million others. Now that you’re caught, you say you have a responsibility, and if you can’t live up to your end of the bargain, you don’t deserve me. At least you’re right about that.

I’m taking myself out, and I won’t be back. I just wanted you to know that it’s not me... it’s you.


Apr 15, 2016

Why Women Hate Viagra**



The Top Ten Reasons Women Hate Viagra

10. Can’t count on aging to get a good night's sleep

9. As if doctors didn't have god complexes already

8. Plausible alibis for dirty old men

7. Makes a penis look super angry

6. There goes your free time

5.  Pants tents everywhere in the nursing home 

4. Doesn't prevent guys buying embarrassing muscle cars

3. Humiliating ER visits where staff asks: "But did you try a blow job?"

2. Those simpering, chiffon-clad fake nymphos in the commercials

1. Now any time...is the right time??


**This is not about my husband





Mar 28, 2016

Special Force: Toilet Seat Down



"John! You left the seat up again!"
"Of course I did."
"Why?"
“I don’t want to touch that germy toilet.”
"Wait. Didn't you make contact putting it up?"
"That's different. I washed my hands after."
"Can’t you wash them after you put it back down?"
SILENCE

I’m pretty sure that the guys who leave toilet seats up don’t appreciate the fact that we have to regularly scrub away all traces of their using them. Even with industrial strength gloves and a two-foot-handled brush, it’s a disgusting task.

Once, a boyfriend asked me: “Why do I have to put it down? Equality means women should have to put it up.”
“Here’s your equality, ” I answered, handing him the cleaner and a brush. He refused, and continued to leave the seat up, while I fantasized about killing him for money.

Some people have a calling to volunteer at soup kitchens or help the elderly cross the street.  I learned that my calling was to be the special force that evens the score on toilet seat position. Special Force: Toilet Seat Down. And I do this for all women, not just myself.

Like many such awakenings, I realized my new spiritual mission while on the golf course. And, it was the same course where Trump did his first comb over, after he looked in the men’s room mirror and saw:
A DIFFERENT KIND OF WATERBOARDING


A. A tiny row of really smart women growing on his head.

B.  Mini illegal immigrants jumping over a fence on his part.

C.  Teensy hair-pulling terrorists being tortured insufficiently.


The day of my avocation, my sister and I had been golfing for hours and regularly quaffing water, so we wouldn’t get dehydrated*. Finally, a bathroom appeared, but it was occupied, and there were three other women waiting in line, all tapping their toes and counting pine needles to divert them from having an accident. I looked over at the men’s room. The symbol on the door wasn’t wearing a triangle and neither was I, so I went in. That’s fair.

Well, it didn't smell good in there, as you might imagine. There was a urinal, with a strange round disc in it. I understand these are called urinal cakes. I think they smell like mothballs so drunk guys using the bathroom literally don’t eat them. There was a toilet too, reasonably clean, with the seat up.

 Grabbing a paper towel, I lowered the seat and attempted to go without actually sitting on it, because I was raised to pee only if it was absolutely necessary, and I was never to really touch the seat. After, I momentarily struggled with the feeling that I should put the seat back up, to be considerate of the next user.

That’s when the room went dark. Suddenly, a faint light appeared, accompanied by a rush of fresh air. As the light got brighter, there appeared a fairly hairy and hefty woman (with wings!) pushing open the window.

“God, it stinks in here!” she said.
“Who are you?” I said.
“Uh, the wings?”
 “Angels aren't supposed to be fat and have chin hairs,” I told her.
“It’s my job to make you feel better about yourself,” she answered.
“Oh.”

The angel told me that I had been selected to rebalance the toilet seat universe. From now on, she told me, I was to enter men’s rooms everywhere and put the seats DOWN.
“What?” I was almost speechless with disappointment. This was my special purpose?
“Every day, millions of women are praying they don’t kill some guy who left the seat up, so it’s an important job,” she explained.
“More important than being rich and famous?”
“You’re not thin enough for that.”
“Oh.”
She faded away, winking, and stroking a line of wiry hair on her jaw, which made me reach up and do the same, but only after I washed my hands.

Known the world over as restroom deserts, golf courses became my specialty. Soon, I was sneaking into men's rooms all over the state, gleefully dropping the seats down, one by one.
The first time I got caught, I walked out, and almost collided with a beefy, red-faced guy wearing ridiculous plaid pants, with a spreading dark spot along the leg.
“You made me spill my beer!” he yelled.
“Sorry," I mumbled, laughing inwardly at his euphemism.

A few holes later, the golf course ranger pulled us over on the cart path, and said, "I'm sorry, but I have to ask you ladies to stop using the men's room. We're getting complaints.”
"I’m the one that did it,” I said. “I’ve been getting a little confused lately."
"She has early onset dementia,” my sister whispered, “sometimes it's hard to keep an eye on her."
"ANOTHER HOLE-IN-ONE!" I shouted, for believability, while he sped off looking scared.

I may have started with free standing bathrooms on golf courses, but by the end, I was slamming down seats in men's rooms everywhere. I used to be happy with just one stall, but then I started craving the two and three stall models you find in hospitals and restaurants.

Never able to replicate the first high I got with my seat flipping, I had to think bigger, so I picked up rubber gloves, a bucket, a ‘closed for cleaning’ sign, and headed to the airport.
"All clean!" I’d chirp at the men waiting in line innocently for their now toilet-seat-down thrones.

Not only have I saved countless lives, but also as a toilet seat mastermind, I have the foolproof method for never getting caught. After all, I'm pretending to clean guy's toilets. They never think they're dirty.  

*On the other hand, I weigh less when dehydrated.

Oct 23, 2015

Male Grocery disease - A Public Health Statement




If you're confused because your guy came home from the grocery store with everything but what you had on the list, you are not alone. A new study shows an epidemic of Male Grocery disease, and in response, the NIH has published this statement: 




Since its first description, Male Grocery disease has gone from a rarely reported disorder to one of the most common causes of marital discord. It was first termed in the early 1970s when women, questioning gender roles, began rejecting elements of the domestic servitude standards of marriage and insisted their husbands were capable of buying groceries (later studies disproved toxic fumes from burning bras as a root cause).

The increasing proportion of women seeking treatment in the U.S. population from the trauma of Male Grocery disease reinforces the urgent need for prevention and treatment of this chronic illness.

To date, numerous studies have attempted to describe the causes and factors associated with Male Grocery disease, generating an abundance of theories on potential risk factors and therapies. An elevated Testosterone level is the strongest known risk factor to date.

In the absence of a cure, it is strongly suggested that women refer to the Braxton-Beergoggle Key for a better understanding of the disease, and as a protective measure for their mental health. 

BRAXTON-BEERGOGGLE KEY
Milk=Beer
Water=Soda
Bread=Donuts
Eggs=Nacho Cheese Dip
Butter=Ice Cream
Cheese=Pizza
Crackers=Oreos
Fruit=Pop Tarts
Diet Coke=Regular Coke
Chicken=Frozen Hot Wings
Pasta= Chef Boyardee Ravioli
Laundry Detergent=Bleach

The only 100% effective treatment is abstinence, so plan accordingly.