Why I’m the better man than you.

And “you” know who you are. I’ve known you since I was 18, my husband since he was 5. You were in my wedding. We have many friends in common. When my husband died I heard nothing from you. Nada. Nor did his children, the oldest, btw, who you knew since birth. You were still stinging, apparently, from a class reunion during which he mentioned your high school nickname. A nickname that everyone knew. He may have gone overboard with a riff worthy of Robin Williams – may he rest in peace – (and believe me, he heard about it when we got home), but you and I both know he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was mortified that you were hurt and tried over and over to make amends. You, on the other hand, have always been on the spiteful side. As anyone who has ever worked for or dated you can attest.

A few months ago I was helping my good friend with her catering business and I happened to work the Chamber luncheon. You walked in, took one look at me, and walked away. I was the invisible help. Whatever.

Tonight you tried to ignore me again and it worked until you were on your way past us a second time and my mom spoke up. You couldn’t ignore her. Then, you looked me in the face, feigned surprise and said “oh yeah. Sue”. Really? wtf was that? oh yeah? STILL not a mention of my loss, no inquiry of the children, my mother in law? me? You did see fit to share that you are “happy” and “actually had a good round of golf today”, to which I did not reply “fuck you”. So. I am the better man.

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