Nancy Pants

I can't stand Nancy Botwin. I hate her stupid skinny ass, her annoying halter top mini-dresses, her incessant sucking on the fucking iced coffee. I hate her lazy, disgusting sense of entitlement to live the life she grew accustomed to before the death of her husband. He died, bitch. Get an actual job. Become a contributing member of society. Don't jump on his drug-dealing bandwagon and walk into that world like you own it. You deserve to get tortured, imprisoned, "picked off."

Normally, I wouldn't care about someone like her. There are plenty of dirty, lazy, entitled and disgusting drug dealers out there (Karma will get them... or someone they love). They affect us all-- make no mistake about it. But that's not really my problem with Nance.

She has children. Two of them. That right there makes her lifestyle unforgivable. How she (or any drug-dealing parent) can look at herself in the mirror and really believe-- or pretend to believe-- that she is doing the best thing she can for her kids is beyond me. Disgusting. The definition of disgusting.

She also doesn't seem to have any problem with the fact that her children are now knee-deep in the shit that is her world. They know what she does, and she doesn't seem affected at all. She voluntarily admits, in front of her children, to lighting her house on fire. She nods indifferently when her 12-year-old son tells a friend that she (Nancy) offed her own mother-in-law. No remorse. None for herself (who cares?) and NONE for her children. Disgusting.

Well done, Mary Louise! You play that part so well that I actually think I might hate you!

But I enjoy the show. Ugh.