I went to get my hair done this morning. I was pleased to see a Town & Country magazine on the shelf by the chair. The hairdresser said "I knew you would like that. That's my Mom's favorite magazine."
Her mom is 45.
That's just ducky. But I'm over it now that I typed it.
You know what I'm not over? Being personally attacked. Someone out there really thinks I'm evil and surprisingly, it's not one of my children.
So I talk to myself a lot. "It's OK," I say,"not everyone has to like you." "It's OK, you're still a good person even though this person apparently wants you dead and fired and living in a van down by the river."
Even worse, you extend an olive branch. You try to be the bigger person and they further attack you and use your goodness as an example of more evilness. It's so twisted you are starting to wonder if you're living inside the Old Testament but without the tents. Are people really this awful when they're supposed to be all grown up? Yes, yes they are.
You know what else I'm not over? Someone telling me that I look like a soccer mom. My kids don't even play soccer. I don't drink Starbucks and drive around yakking on my phone. Do soccer moms even do that? What is a soccer mom anyway? Seems to me like she might be in better shape because no one's trying to ruin her reputation except for the other evil Moms on the PTA. That is probably worse- all hail to you Soccer Moms who have people on the PTA attack you. I stand in solidarity.
I show up for work every day in high heels and I even wear seasonally appropriate lip gloss. I say smart stuff (sometimes) so why do you care if I've got grass clippings on my floor mats and mummified french fries in between my seats? By the way, don't blame the kids for those. That and the dried up dripped ice cream is from me. Have you ever tried to drive 75 mph, talk on the phone and eat an ice cream sundae? Not recommended.
I may need to show up at church tomorrow to revel in the whole Jesus loves me this I know stuff otherwise it's going to be another long week. I may also spray myself from head to toe with nonstick cooking spray and let that crap just slide right off (the bad stuff, not the Jesus stuff).
Maybe I'm over it now.