There she sits. Though you don’t know her, you know she’s the girl you hated in high school. You were never quite as pretty, never quite as smart, never quite as lauded, never quite as wanted. You thought you were rid of her, but now she’s right in front of you. And the worst part is that you can tell things haven’t changed. She is still beautiful, with her fair skin, perfectly manicured nails, and not a single blonde hair out of place. (Bottle blonde, you hope. It would make you feel better. But if it is fake, it’s a great dye job.) She wears expensive, tasteful clothing. Probably gets paid more than you, dammit.
If she had been fat or a failure or a mother-six-times-over-by-the-age-of-25, everything would have been okay. You almost would have felt sorry for her. But nothing has changed, and you hate yourself for caring. You’re too old to feel this insecure.
You watch as she reads her kindle through a pair of designer sunglasses. Bitch.
I actually never had a girl I hated in high school. In grade school and junior high, yes. But not in high school. Have you checked out Drivel & Wit Chicago yet? You probably should, and tell all your writer friends in Chicago! Spread the word. I'm excited because some of my friends are coming over tonight for a Mary Shelley Story-Telling party. Much like how Mary Shelley ended up writing Frankenstein, we're all writing short scary stories and reading them to each other. Good times!
I'm at work, so I must run. Until next time.