Toxic

 

How's it feel, I mean really? 

I'm basking in some schadenfreude this morning. I'm trying to fight it, but I can't. I think Laura Ingalls called it "mean gladness" when Nellie Olson was pissed that Laura hitched a ride to school with local hottie Almanzo Wilder after picking up her name cards. That ride on Calumet Avenue must have felt like a blessed parade.

Or was it when Nellie ended up with bloodsuckers on her legs after being rude to Ma and mean to Jack at her country party? 

Maybe both; my girl Laura could zone in on just the right feeling. 

So I started doing meet-ups with old friends again a few years ago and they were a good support system when I was going through the cancer scare. However, I noticed the road only seemed to go one way - me to them - and when one group member turned on me over the word mastectomy v. lumpectomy, they all did. 

This hurt tremendously, especially because I considered two of those people best friends for life. 

Silly me, but when you choose, you choose. 

Looking back through the hurt, I realized there's some small-town-mindedness I'm relieved to be away from. Judgemental comments. Snottiness even. 

Welp, one of them has been ostracized from the group after a petty disagreement and unceremoniously kicked out of the clique. I cannot muster up a lick of sympathy. Not an iota. I've tried. All I can do is smirk. 

Who's next, bitches?