Sometimes the things I hear about other people’s lives make me think about how nice and undramatic my growing up was. No aunties in our noses telling us we’re doomed, no uncles tattling about seeing us in the park too late doing whoknowswhat. No not so horrible things like snarky kids charming the hairnet off everyone around them and then when it comes to you, a suitable degrading meanness, like why do you wear such disgusting shoes? I’m telling. No horrible things like ugly hearted strangers in the dark. You’re too pretty, you’re ugly, you’re too ugly, you’re not smart enough. No lies that become like smoke for a fire to people you care about, no random bans from houses based on a ton of belief in lies simply because so and so said it.
No aftermath of mistakes, or becoming an item on the grapevine, doomed to be a wasted backslider who can only turn up dirt on the soles of her shoes or spout foolish non sequiturs, in perpetuity. Having people gossip about the mess in the cupboard in the bedroom or what I wouldn’t eat. No becoming a nonentity, with a I-do-not-know-you snub in the supermarket, Aisle 53, Fresh Vegetables over a cartload of eyebrow raising processed carbs. No having to say sorry even when it wasn’t you, no having to be nice with a super stiff face. No having your future robbed from you just because they bear a grudge. “Oh that girl? No, no. She’s too much, you’re better off alone.”
As they say, just live your life well. That is the best revenge.