Oh, I ran into an ex-friend today at the card shop. There was no avoiding her... the store is about as big as a minute and she cornered me by the front door. There were the requisite questions, the "what have you been up to?" and "how long has it been?" blahblahblah. I was miserable and just wanted to get my two cards, pay and high-tail it out the door.
Instead, I got an update on everyone I don't want to hear about. I'm not evolved enough to not let this kind of thing get to me. Worse, I had just come from the pool... I looked it, too. I always run into people I don't want to see when I look my worst. It's a simple fact. I should take note and make an effort.
So she belittled me in her way -- I totally forgot how she could do that, you know, in the sweetest possible way, but she was like, "so, you work in concerts... do you know my friend So-and-So?" and when I answered in the negative, I got, "Oh well, she works on a much higher level than you, I suppose... she does Arena shows." I didn't make out whether she's local or not, but it doesn't matter. Melanie made her point. She was like, "yeah, so you work with... who was it again? George Michael... no. George... George... Michael? Hmmm. OH! Boy George! Right?" Yes, that was almost a decade ago, but again, when her friend works for U2 and in her mind I work for Boy George her friend clearly is superior. Argh. I feel little today.
I couldn't even take joy in the fact that she's gained weight because apparently she had a baby 11 months ago and is now expecting another in November. Post-partum and pregnant women get a break if they're out of shape. It's a rule. Unless you live in Hollywood. Damnit.
I'm going for a drink.