There was a bit of jealousy on my part, I admit it. You knew my husband way back when – before I ever existed… The two of you grew up together – took baths together as toddlers and spent the night at each others houses – I get that.
You had this air about you – I couldn’t put my finger on it at first; during the whirlwind of hello, how do you do, so nice to put a face with a name and all that. You were tall and gazelle-like, perfect posture, great eyebrows, glossy dark hair, willowy limbs and a smile that all but knocked the wind out of me. You were one of those “I just wear mascara and a bit of gloss” kind of girls who looked like they were airbrushed in person, while I struggled with powder foundation to achieve a slightly muddy effect, at best. I was in awe of you.
And then… you opened your mouth.
“So what do you do?”, you asked sweetly. I’m an observer and typically wait before jumping into conversation while others are struggling with awkward small talk. But you did not want to let me do that. You were on the hunt.
“I am a graphic designer for a web based application development company; specializing in advertising and marketing”, I answered. I was proud of myself for having my networking persona on, even after the double vodka red bull I indulged in while getting ready that night. I silently congratulated myself and waited for you to respond.
“Oh!” you exclaimed, all excited, as your eyes danced brightly in their sockets, “you can probably answer this then!” Great, I thought, a job interview on a Saturday night with one sheet to the wind. Sure, sister, lay it on me…
“I am having trouble with my website. I moved my website to a different server and I can’t seem to move my blog.”, you said. I could see the glee in your eyes as I informed you that there were many possible reasons you were having trouble, and offered you my email address so we could discuss it further in a setting more conducive to troubleshooting, etc.
Nevermind that you asking me that question was kin to asking a car detailer if the transmission in your car needs replacement… Kind of the same industry… but not really… and yet, I was still willing to try to help you.
I lost you at the first sentence. Your eyes began wandering you scanned the room for someone more interesting to talk to, and in those moments I realized that you had no use for me if I couldn’t give you the answer you wanted to hear on demand. I could actually see the wheels in your mind turning as you nonchalantly mentioned that you worked for a popular news station in California, something about audio/video…
You lost me too.
I watched you the rest of the night playing the same cat and mouse game with other people. I watched you as you justified your “unholy” behavior as a teenager by saying you had made amends to Regina for pretending she didn’t exist in High School after a lifetime of playing dolls and house and riding your bikes together. I saw Regina looking at you with doe eyes and telling you how much she missed you, while you casually crushed her beneath your size 9 four inch heels.
I watched you as you piled food on your plate and let it sit there (until the waiter edged cautiously around the table and eventually removed your meal from the table) so you could go chop it up with Regina’s mortal enemy from school; leaving her sitting at the table by herself with nothing to do but watch you.
In the back of my mind, it irritated me. But I let it go at the time because of who you are to my husband and the history you share. I chalked it up to perhaps you were nervous, I fantasized that you had an eating disorder resulting in those willowy limbs, and began to feel a bit sorry for you.
A few days later, you emailed me letting me know, in that same sweet if not condescending tone, that you had sent my husband some photos from the reunion and it was so very nice to meet me. Your auto signature contained a link to your website. So, like any self respecting woman would do, I clicked on the link.
Nothing.
I laughed as I realized that you still had not worked out your cyber issues and then began to Google your first and last name. I found your blog on MySpace; reminding myself that you were, after all, still in your 20s and that made perfect sense… I began to read.
Your last post was in 2006. In that post you had a link to the same website that wasn’t working. I giggled again as I realized how many places you had probably noted “I have a website now, click here”…
And then…a heartfelt blog regarding “snap judgmental behavior within seconds of talking to someone new”, “being able to decide everything about someone just by hearing them express a single sentence”…
Really? Ha! Oh yes… you hit the nail on the head, sister.
I have to applaud you for recognizing such an ugly trait and putting it out in the street like that. And on the other hand, I had to read the date again to be sure you weren’t talking about me (it was several years ago, mind you… but I looked nonetheless.)
And then I realized some things:
I do not like you. Even more so now – because not only are you evil but you KNOW you are evil and you continue to be evil in a nice girl suit.
You are one of those “God” people who remind me why I don’t like church – organized religion, in my opinion, does not equal salvation – it is just another version of high school and people living in their own glass houses, collecting stones to throw from the privacy of their back yard hiding behind by a 6 foot fence.
You may be beautiful on the outside. But on the inside you are just like me. Imperfect. Insecure. But unlike me, you are shallow and frivolous with the emotions of others.
I may tell my husband how I feel, and then again my sentiments may soften within the folds of my heart and stay there. But know this. The next time I see you, and you attempt the two cheek air kiss I’ll extend my hand instead and look you square in the eyes without saying a word. Then I’ll smile and ask you, sweetly, “have you figured out how to move your blog yet?”
© jmr/2007
[un]fortunate [im]balance 
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