Remember high school and how catty girls can be? I sure do and boy do I have stories to share but I’m not about to go into those this time around because I’d like to talk about something I find leaps and bounds more intriguing: when that malevolent, venomous and extremely childish behavior bleeds over into adulthood and catty girls turn out to be catty women, so don’t worry, I’m not about to delve into any high school drama. I will, however, go even further back in time.
This little story took place when I was still in primary school – which from today’s perspective feels like talking about a time before the invention of color television but I assure you, the memory is still very vivid, 3D and colorful in my head (which just proves that mind really does work in mysterious ways, nicely storing away and remembering all the annoying, redundant shit thus validating the saying ‘the secret of happiness is to have bad memory’ which, on the other hand, clashes with the saying ‘learn from your mistakes’ or ‘always forgive, but never forget’ which would then imply that smart people can’t be happy people or that happiness is a sign of simplemindedness which just reminds me of some very wise words of one Jan Huss who said, “Sancta Simplicita!” but this is definitely not a primary school level debate and that’s where we are right now so let’s keep things PG-13 which is, coincidentally (or not?) just about the age when my parents got a divorce).
As I’ve already written here on FPS, my parents called it quits when the legal ending of a marriage was much frowned upon and seen as a rare delicacy (much like let’s say leprosy). But please, note that I’m bringing this bit of information up solely as a fact, I’m not planning on going into how adversity and hardship build character or how hard times offer one a chance to grow and learn or any of that other stupid motivational bullshit (which I, in fact, firmly believe in even though it sounds so cheesy it’s hazardous to the lactose intolerant) but I had to mention that because that set in motion a chain of events that – besides the fact that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger – thought me something else and that is that wisdom most certainly doesn’t come with age and, what’s even more important, that bitches will be bitches.
So who was the unwise shrew granting me with this learning experience? Well, certainly none of my parents but my classmate’s mother who one day came to school to talk to one of my teachers and demanded that she ordered me to change sits so I wouldn’t sit with her child anymore since I was “a bad influence because my parents got a divorce”. Want to know how I can quote that verbatim? Because the next day the teacher came and spoke to me, telling me what had happened and explaining that she didn’t agree with my classmate’s mother but was put in an awkward position where her hands were tied so she had to do what was asked of her even though she thought I was far from a bad influence on anyone – especially due to my parent’s divorce. Funny, how she felt that she could speak her mind and talk to me like with a sensible human being at such a young age whereas she decided that it was pointless to try and reason with someone over twice my age, right?
Another funny thing is I was labeled a bad influence, a label which I coincidentally hadn’t been able to shake even in my later life, back when I was a straight A pupil. I would’ve understood if this happened later on in, let’s say, high school when I smoked, walked around with my underwear sticking out, had every haircut and hair color imaginable, a bunch of piercings and a growing collection of tattoos (not to mention the heavy swearing and rebelling against basically everything for basically no good reason), but not when I looked like this, did my homework diligently, kept my grades way up, played piano, rambled in the woods with other girl scouts and went to church at least once a week. I mean, I first swore in eighth grade when I was 15, for fuck’s sake, but I was a bad bad influence a lot sooner – funny, right?
Yet another funny thing is that despite people getting forewarned of all the bad prognoses which were to stem from fraternizing with such a bad omen as I supposedly was, I’ve ended up getting my BA without any major hiccups and then after working my ass off for several years, I’ve landed a job I’d always wanted to but never thought I could (at least not this soon) and I’m not exactly sucking at it, so I’m able to pay my own bills and taxes – and all of that without getting knocked-up or OD’ing or resorting to turning tricks on the way. I even recycle and from time to time help old ladies cross the street, regardless of my piercings, tattoos and a broken home, how funny is that?
And yet another funny thing is that I was proclaimed a bad influence for something a) I didn’t even do myself and b) I think people should be commended for – for my mother filing for divorce after number of torturous and unfulfilled years. Since when is being a strong, independent, self-sufficient woman a bad thing? Please, don’t try and tell me that it’s much better to instill your loved ones with the stay-together-stay-miserable mantra, because to that I only have one thing to say and that is, “Suck my tit,” as funny as it might sound.
But the really funny thing, the funniest of them all perhaps, is the term ‘bad influence’ itself. I don’t delude myself into thinking that I have any influence on anyone whatsoever – nor do I want to have it – mind controlling just isn’t on the list of my superpowers. There are others though, like picking awesome boogers out of my nose and holding my pee for a very long time, so beware. Yes, pee-holding superpower seems crazy, but so does pointing a finger at me and screaming, “Bad influence, bad influence!” but I guess that when you squeeze a human out of your vagina suddenly the newly formed void is filled with vapid and hollow sense of superiority and anything goes, illogic as it might be, oh, sancta Simplicitas. But then again my mom never got infected with entitlement like that although suffering through the whole process of childbearing twice, so maybe there’s another reason for someone to stoop to that level, maybe they were dropped on their head or breastfed for too long or something, who knows. Either way, it’s funny.
Still. Despite all of this shit being this funny, I actually don’t find any of this bad influence slandering amusing, not at all. But hey, luckily I’m out of primary as well as high school so I’ve left all the cattiness far behind and I’m home safe in a bitchiness-free zone because adults know better than to make such immature accusations. No, wait … Apparently stuff like that can surprise you at any point in your life. Fortunately, I’m ready for when it’ll happen again, since I got my lesson soon enough – bitches will be bitches, remember?
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