Some people

There are just some people who absolutely confound me. I'm a pretty nice person, but I acknowledge that I'm pretty much the kind of gal that you either really like me or you really dislike me. There isn't much in between. And, for the most part, I'm OK with that.

Don't get me wrong, I really like being liked. That is one reason why my dander gets up when people come to the blog and rag on me. I don't write things for criticism. That may come as a shock to some.

What started this little mini-rant is this one woman. She hates me with every ounce of her plus-size body, too. Not just a dislike, she hates me and she has no qualms to let me know how much she hates me. You know what, fine with me. Bad thing is, I'm catching myself acting as ugly as she is, in return. It all started when her little darling - we'll call Gabe - started playing soccer for us when he was in kindergarten. Not gifted with a fit frame, he was having a hard time running anyway, but then he made it worse by running with his tongue hanging out his mouth. (Yes, I know each of you is saying 'but that is dangerous because he'll bite his tongue off if he falls.) His mother took great offense to us telling him NOT to run like that. We even explained to her the dangers involved. Alas, she thought it was cute explaining how he inherited that trait from his grandmother (now, seeing the grandmother running with her tongue hanging out of her mouth gave me a visual that made me laugh and picture a basset hound, but that is neither here nor there). And, she did not want him corrected for it. She also complained that we yelled at the boys too much. I tried to explain that there are times when we have to yell to be heard and that the former soldier/former cop has an intimidating voice that isn't to be confused to a mean yell. All to no avail.

She complained about us to the commissioner and asked off the team at the end of the season. Whatever makes you happy. We were glad not to have the kid back on the team, to be honest.

While relating the story about this child to a neighbor - who was a kindergarten teacher at a private school - she said, oh that sounds like a student I have named Gabe. Swear to God. My eyes bugged out and I told her the child's last name and sure enough, it was the same kid. Apparently, his mother doesn't like him to be corrected in school either and complained about my neighbor - who is the dearest and fairest woman on the planet and kind to a fault - to the principal. It just seems the rest of the world hasn't discovered that mommy's little angel is perfect.

Well, lucky me, now he goes to my child's school. I learned - through the grapevine - that she told some nasty stories about us to another family, who subsequently asked for their two children to be removed from our soccer teams without even meeting us. So, I have to see bitchcakes every morning when she is dropping off her son and every afternoon when she is picking him up.

The last couple of times I saw her last spring on the soccer fields and spoke, she turned her head and acted like she didn't hear me and began talking to the other mom walking with me. So, I catch myself each morning walking the long way to my car to avoid eye contact with her, or I turn and engage the kids in conversation. All the while I'm thinking thoughts like, yeah, I might be chunky, but you're fat AND ugly or even worse thoughts. I don't like to be like that either. I'm a bit ashamed of myself for it and plan to take the high road this afternoon. If she is walking my direction, I'm going to try and engage the sow, er, woman in a conversation. I'll take the high road, even if she won't. Kill 'em with kindness my mother used to say. I think I'll feel better about myself if nothing else. If she chooses to act like a turd, at least I'll know I'm not to blame.