Them's fightin' words!
The other day I was thinking that I hadn't blogged in a while and wondered what would inspire next me to write. Things are going really well and good news doesn't make the best bloggy material. This fact had me a little concerned, wondering when the other shoe would drop.
As I was hopping down the bunny trail at Target last night, the shoe dropped in the form of a text message. It was from the girlfriend of my ex friend/business partner (who i used to refer to as "Jill", but now am irked enough to say her name rhymes with "icky" and "sticky"). If you look back in the archives of my blog you will see a post or two about *icky. She has a phone number one digit off from mine, which she deliberately selected for purposes unknown and now I get calls and (worse) texts from people looking for *icky every day. I have always been nice about it and saved my wrath for this blog where I could vent to my heart's content. By nice I mean I have politely given people the correct number and sent them on their way. When *icky's girlfriend (the one she left her husband and four kids for) calls and hears my voice, she hangs up. This was the text conversation in Target last night. They were in a fight, I would guess. Don't ask me to decipher any of this, it makes no sense. IG = *icky's girlfriend.
IG: "Why would I ever lay out for you?"
Me: "Not *icky" (see? I am telling her she isn't texting who she thinks)
IG: "Would never want to, Sweets! Let it go!"
Me: "Still not *icky"
IG: "DUH!!! Just letting u know it was a mistake. Get over it"
Okay, hi. You texted me, hon. I fought my urge to reply, mostly because there were so many choices! I could say:
"Y R U talking like Prince?" or
"DUH??? What is this, 3rd grade?" or
"Oh goodie. Those kids needed another Mommy with an anger management problem." (that's sarcasm, folks)
Mostly it made me feel the way I felt in high school when the female gangleader from "The Family", Lisa Hicky, (yes, that's actually her name and why does everyone in this story rhyme? Coincidence? I wonder) was told by another girl that I (a mild mannered, non-violent all american teen) was "after" her boyfriend, Keith Kluckle (yes, that's his real name, truth is so much stranger than fiction), an older boy I had never seen in my life. The word was out that I was dog meat and was overdue for a pounding. Remember in the Brady Bunch when Jan overcomes her fear of public speaking by imagining the audience in their underwear? I was able to stand tall against Lisa by imagining her married name: Lisa Hicky Kluckle, but I digress.
Fast forward to last night. Those were fightin' words and I wanted in! Okay, I wanted to send a salty reply but my maturity caught up with my righteous indignation just in the nick of time. I "let it go", I "took the high road", I "turned the other cheek". Plus, my husband wisely pointed out that if I were to accelerate things, it could get icky or sticky and we don't want that.
As I was hopping down the bunny trail at Target last night, the shoe dropped in the form of a text message. It was from the girlfriend of my ex friend/business partner (who i used to refer to as "Jill", but now am irked enough to say her name rhymes with "icky" and "sticky"). If you look back in the archives of my blog you will see a post or two about *icky. She has a phone number one digit off from mine, which she deliberately selected for purposes unknown and now I get calls and (worse) texts from people looking for *icky every day. I have always been nice about it and saved my wrath for this blog where I could vent to my heart's content. By nice I mean I have politely given people the correct number and sent them on their way. When *icky's girlfriend (the one she left her husband and four kids for) calls and hears my voice, she hangs up. This was the text conversation in Target last night. They were in a fight, I would guess. Don't ask me to decipher any of this, it makes no sense. IG = *icky's girlfriend.
IG: "Why would I ever lay out for you?"
Me: "Not *icky" (see? I am telling her she isn't texting who she thinks)
IG: "Would never want to, Sweets! Let it go!"
Me: "Still not *icky"
IG: "DUH!!! Just letting u know it was a mistake. Get over it"
Okay, hi. You texted me, hon. I fought my urge to reply, mostly because there were so many choices! I could say:
"Y R U talking like Prince?" or
"DUH??? What is this, 3rd grade?" or
"Oh goodie. Those kids needed another Mommy with an anger management problem." (that's sarcasm, folks)
Mostly it made me feel the way I felt in high school when the female gangleader from "The Family", Lisa Hicky, (yes, that's actually her name and why does everyone in this story rhyme? Coincidence? I wonder) was told by another girl that I (a mild mannered, non-violent all american teen) was "after" her boyfriend, Keith Kluckle (yes, that's his real name, truth is so much stranger than fiction), an older boy I had never seen in my life. The word was out that I was dog meat and was overdue for a pounding. Remember in the Brady Bunch when Jan overcomes her fear of public speaking by imagining the audience in their underwear? I was able to stand tall against Lisa by imagining her married name: Lisa Hicky Kluckle, but I digress.
Fast forward to last night. Those were fightin' words and I wanted in! Okay, I wanted to send a salty reply but my maturity caught up with my righteous indignation just in the nick of time. I "let it go", I "took the high road", I "turned the other cheek". Plus, my husband wisely pointed out that if I were to accelerate things, it could get icky or sticky and we don't want that.
posted by Her Serene Highness will do at 9:56 AM
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