The Brickster

I don’t know how many of you know who Samantha Brick is, but she has weaseled her way back into the news once more. Samantha Brick or the “Brickster” as I like to call her, is a self proclaimed Trophy Wife.  Aren’t we all?

Trophy Wife

Now I could do what many have done before me and make fun of her. If you’ve read any of my other blogs you probably already know I have the tongue of a serpent and an ass that you cannot bounce a quarter on. As a matter of fact I have not only tested my ass theory out, but I have so many quarters stuck in the dimples of my ass that I never need to carry change for parking meters or pay phones. My husband is probably reading this right now thinking to himself, “I wish she wouldn’t put herself down like that.” And it’s true, I find each and every way to pick myself apart. But that’s what makes me human. I think we all find ways to tear ourselves down. That’s what makes the Brickster so special. She not only has enough self-confidence for herself, but I believe she has a secret lab somewhere and is slowly sucking the self-esteem from each and every one of us. I envy her narcissism. I really do.

People send her champagne and wine just because she’s so damned beautiful. All I want to know is, where the hell is my champagne? People stop her on the street and give her flowers. With all this positive reinforcement I’m assuming her life must be filled with glitter ponies and rainbows. But that’s not the case, and do you want to know why? It’s because of all you bitches! You hags have the nerve to hate the Brickster because of her devastating beauty. Because of your deplorable jealousy she is forced to walk this earth . . . friendless. Alone. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Can’t you see she’s a perfectly lovely person?

Samantha Brick

She loses jobs because of her beauty. Women have never extended the ever-coveted role of bridesmaid to her. Wait, that one might be a plus so I’m not sure we can count it. This woman has been forced to dress down at work. Her male counterparts couldn’t focus because her beauty was just too distracting. She is left to long for a time when she is old and aged so that she can blend in with the rest of us peasants.  I have even set aside a roll of quarters that I reserved for her 42nd birthday. I think she and I are both excited for her to finally be able to share my pain.

As if her beauty weren’t enough her marriage is also great too. *Yelling at the Universe* “I want to be like the Brickster! Why do you have to be so unfair!”? In her most recent article she states:

My husband sets me a £250 allowance each month for my wardrobe, I ask his permission before booking a hair appointment and discuss with him what I will have done. He even has an opinion — which I adhere to — on how I dress and what I weigh. He prefers I wear classic ladylike attire and, at 5ft 11in, he insists I tip the scale at no more than 10½ stone. In fact, he’s there when I weigh myself.

I am going to need some clarification of what size stones she’s talking about for reference. Are these small stones or large stones? Because the size of the stone really can make all the difference.

This is the part of the article that struck me the most:

Since the time of our blossoming romance, a day has not gone by where I haven’t made an effort with my appearance. It pains me to read that women such as Hillary Clinton feel they’ve reached an age where they no longer need make-up.

Okay, now I just feel like shit. Because before writing this blog I went thru the Starbucks drive thru wearing my pajamas that I had slept in last night as well as no make up. And just to drive home my lack of effort in my appearance, I also didn’t brush my teeth.  She then goes on to say, “If a woman doesn’t make an effort, it’s perfectly logical that her husband will assume it’s because she feels he’s not worth making an effort for. Can you then blame a man for looking elsewhere?”

Uh oh.

So as I sit here in my pajamas, drinking my coffee with my un-brushed teeth, one thought pops into my head. The Brickster is a troll. She’s not real. She is a figment of our already warped imaginations. This is a woman who has purposely said outrageous things just so she can stay in the spotlight. She has deliberately posted her rantings with the intent of causing maximum disruption and argument. And I fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.  I am so ashamed. I’m better than this.

Or am I?

I’m going to have to say screw you Brickster! Screw you and your little trophies. You may have a trophy, but I have a championship belt. And I think we can both agree that the belt is the perfect place to hide my quarters.

Championship Belt

© Two too smart, smartass mommies 2011