Good girls vs bad girls

 What a joke. Where's the competition? It is like comparing a moose and a horse. One is a beast of burden, the other one is just a beast. With giant antlers, impossible art works growing from their heads to slam other women. One is nimble and useful, the other is death in spandex. One smells like linen dried on the line, the other has a tinge, a tinge of something. Even if its designer.

I know all about bad girls, but there's no real line. If we traveled back in time to find the angel in the house? Who would she be? Did she beat little Johnny with a yard stick? Did she sew in candle light humming hymns? Was she like Miss Honey from Matilda, all thin and waif like, saying things softly to the angry moose, a gazelle with her feet in the water, bringing home butterflies on her back, all magic at twilight with lightning bugs and twisting the caps off to let them fly free? Plump like Mrs. Clause, gifting fat soft ribbon packages in shiny papers and spiced sweets?

Do women like these make good mothers? Do their children's friends come over and want to eat her cookies?  Is she modern, baking imitation sugar cookies, cakes with applesauce? Squeezed smiling ranch lines to dip carrot flowers in?

And you, you hussies in pleather. You're like angry moose, breaking a nail on any girl who looks at your man. You shake your head yes instead of no. You wear lipstick over your lip line and gloss till the gloss runs dry. Any good girl has a gloss in the bathroom drawer, free rolling, then she's giving it away to the poor kids at the Y. You've had six from the beauty supply store. You don't run out because you keep em comin', wink. 

Good girls think too much and bad girls think too little, and if you get the right girl, from each camp, they'll snicker at the other, lip curled up over canines. Bad girls and good girls play their parts real carefully, and each has a breaking point, where one let's fists fly, the other cries over a basket of laundry, wiping her nose delicately with baby sock. Cry feeble one, cry. At least no one's going to pull out your hair today over their man. You've just booked too many PTA gigs. 

Good girls wear socks, eat with the right utensils, at the table, with other people. Kin folk. Homemade. 

Bad girls don't wear undies, eat french fries on the road, going 55 in a school district. They ain't her kids. She's got no kids, shit. 

Good girls watch TV if they have time to, but Bad girls got the Netflix,  and thevye seen every episode of Charmed. 

Good girls write to the school board about "Honest" products and ten extra minutes of recess so the kids can be themselves. Bad girls holler out, "y'all better get your kids." 

Good girls host dinner parties and serve other women they don't even like with grace, and cocktail napkins. Bad girls say "I know she's not looking at me" "I know that she doesn't have my name in her mouth."

Good girls compliment. Bad girls tell it like it is.