It’s funny how things stay with you.Â
Our church had a picnic in the park this past Sunday afternoon and a couple of other churches joined us.Â Our kids had collaborated on a musical and they were putting it on again, for the whole park.Â (My daughter helped choreograph and I was very proud of her.)Â Anyway, I’m sitting there in my lawn chair, guzzling water because it’s so hot and there, across the lawn, I see the Mean Girl who terrorized me all through third grade.Â
She. Was. Horrid.
I’d been a very sickly third-grader, to the point that I almost died.Â I’d been born with a kidney defect, which they fixed with a surgery during my third grade year.Â I was skinny and pale, with dark circles under my eyes and when I came back to school, I was sporting a scar on my left side almost a foot long.Â They had to practically cut me in half.Â The Mean Girl was waiting for me the day I miserably returned to school–and she was no small part of the reason I didn’t want to go back.Â “What’s wrong with you?Â Did they starve you?Â ” and later in the year “Nobody wants to play with you.Â You don’t have any friends.” (Not true, but as most Mean Girls are the ring leaders of the class, so was she.)
I hated her with an absolute passion and realized Sunday even after twenty-seven years I still hate her.Â Petty?Â Irrational?Â Small?Â Probably.Â And yes, she was nine, but I don’t care.Â She was hateful and cruel and I am so thankful that she’s grown up to be a fat ugly hag with a badonka donk butt thatÂ spilled out of the sides of her lawnchair and thighs the size of redwoods.Â Even her ankles are huge.Â If there was really any justice in the world, she’d have mottled green skin and warts to compliment her personality.
I pointed her out to my husband, who’d heard the story before.
“You should go kill her with kindness.Â Show her you’re the bigger person.”
I snorted.Â “She’s the bigger person.Â Look at her.Â She’s twice as big as me.”
“I hated her.Â She made me miserable.Â She was cruel.”
“She was nine.”
“She was still a little bitch.”
“Listen, if I had anything to say to her at all, it wouldn’t be nice.Â Do you really want me getting into a fight at the church picnic?”
It only takes a second for him to mull this over.Â “What do you want on your hotdog?Â I’ll get it for you.”
He has undoubtedly made this offer because Wide Load has planted her chair as close to the food as possible and he’s fearing a run in.
So what about you?Â Any Mean Girls in your past?Â Have you forgiven them or like me, is the hate still festering?