29 December 2011

Bitch As a Relative Term

Friends often (yes, often) used to tell me that they used to think I was a bitch. "God, I used to think you were such a bitch!" That, or the equally telling comment "I used to think you hated me." Before we were friends, natch. Something in my way, or in my naturally down-turned mouth, signaled "hatred/bitch" to them, after which time I managed to win them over with my WINNING personality. But I didn't know that I had to win them over, see? Because I only ever found out about the "bitch" thing after, usually way after, the fact.

I haven't heard these lines in a long time. I don't think the sentiment on the Other's part has changed, I just think that with age comes tact. Scratch that - tactfulness is on something like a bell curve. It increases up to a certain point, oh, say, 52 years of age, and then begins a decline equal to its previous ascent. But that's beside the point.

The absence of these words falling upon my eardrums could be due to something else altogether. Perhaps it's that I've come to associate with people who love (my flavor of) bitchiness. In this scenario, there's no realization that I'm not in fact a bitch/hateful; rather, that's precisely what they love about me from the beginning. There's no winning them over with my true charms, because that is my charm. I had them at "Leave me the fuck alone," accompanied by a withering look.

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