Mean Girls
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. Our kids had collaborated on a musical and they were putting it on again, for the whole park. (My daughter helped choreograph and I was very proud of her.) 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. I’d been born with a kidney defect, which they fixed with a surgery during my third grade year. 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. They had to practically cut me in half. 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. “What’s wrong with you? Did they starve you? ” and later in the year “Nobody wants to play with you. 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. Petty? Irrational? Small? Probably. And yes, she was nine, but I don’t care. 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 that spilled out of the sides of her lawnchair and thighs the size of redwoods. Even her ankles are huge. 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. Show her you’re the bigger person.”
I snorted. “She’s the bigger person. Look at her. She’s twice as big as me.”
“Rhonda.”
“I hated her. She made me miserable. She was cruel.”
“She was nine.”
“She was still a little bitch.”
“Rhonda.”Â
“Listen, if I had anything to say to her at all, it wouldn’t be nice. Do you really want me getting into a fight at the church picnic?”
It only takes a second for him to mull this over. “What do you want on your hotdog? 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? Any Mean Girls in your past? Have you forgiven them or like me, is the hate still festering?
May 22nd, 2007 at 8:43 am
I had my share of run-ins with the hateful girls growing up but nothing that drastic. I completely understand why you hate her!
What gets me though, is that the same girls who absolutely ignored me during school now come up to me and gush when they see me. I wasn’t their friend then, why do they think I’ll be now?
Kira
May 22nd, 2007 at 9:55 am
Bad, bad Rhonda. Yes, I went through some of that too. I let that go but as an adult I’ve dealt with that and really, really need to let some of it go. Still working on it.
May 22nd, 2007 at 10:15 am
I didn’t have mean girls who actively did anything but there were the girls who merely ignored me until they needed help with something academic. I, being the better person, refused to help.
It was so nice to see many of them at our 25th reunion and observe the badonka donk butts (love that term!). Of course, my butt is moving in the direction of badonka donk. My 40th reunion will be in 2 years (oh my gosh! does that make me sound old or what???) and if they have a reunion I want to NOT have a BD butt.
May 22nd, 2007 at 10:34 am
Thank you, Kira! It’s good to know I’m not the only person who thinks it’s unfounded.
And you’re right. Every once in a while I’ll run into someone who wouldn’t have given me the time of day before, but suddenly wants to act all BFF to me. Ugh.
Ginger, clearly I need to work on the letting it go part.
Marilyn, I’m glad that you refused to help! And you are FAR from having a badonka donk butt.
May 22nd, 2007 at 12:03 pm
Just because you forgive, it does not mean that you should forget.
As Linda H says, it’s not hard to carry a grudge. They’re not heavy or anything.
Yeah, I took great pleasure at my 10 year reuinon when one of the meanies had a butt the size of Arizona.
May 22nd, 2007 at 1:08 pm
Kimberly, I love Linda’s quote! Too true!
May 22nd, 2007 at 3:15 pm
TC wasn’t mean, but she was jealous that I had boobs and she didn’t. Lord knows I didn’t ask to be a 36C my freshmen year in high school any more than than she asked to be flat chested.
Anyway, we were cheerleaders together and about half way through basketball season she said, “My mother says girls with big boobs will be fat when they get older.”
Ok, so I am overweight but trust me, I’m svelte compared to that cow and her BD butt that needs a WIDE LOAD sign on it. When I saw her at our 10 year reunion, I started laughing so hard I had to walk away
- and I wasn’t overweight then.
Our 40th high school reunion is coming up in 2 years. Do you think it would it be rude of me to say something like, “Well, I see that not only girls with big boobs get fat when they get older?”
May 22nd, 2007 at 3:21 pm
Kimberly’s Mom, not at all!!! Tell her.
What a mean-spirited little troll!
May 22nd, 2007 at 3:21 pm
And you are not overweight!
May 23rd, 2007 at 11:56 am
I had my fair share of trauma in school. I’ve been through therapy and I’m much better now, but it was hard. For one, I developed early, so I had acne, hips and boobs in 4th grade - a distinction that translates to fat and ugly when everyone else is 75 pounds and you’re 120 and 5′8. I was teased for being fat, which just made me get fatter. My skin was really bad all through jr. high which was the worst. There was a guy that used to freeze in place everytime I looked at him like I was Medusa. Then there was a girl in homeroom that made fun of me every day of 6th grade. I hated her. I’m ashamed to admit that she was run over my a semi truck (seriously) in 8th grade and I didn’t care. I didn’t celebrate or anything, but I wasn’t a sobbing mess like half the school.
High school got better, not much being made fun of, everyone had their own group of friends. I’m debating going to my reunion. Doesn’t seem like a fun time to me.
I think its perfectly acceptable to relish in the misfortunes of those who made you miserable. It’s only fair. But I’m not bitter…