(Continuing the ahem, trend, of naming my blogs after songs…)
Don’t hate me for channeling a little bit of Taylor Swift.
She is America’s Sweetheart for a reason and…ok, I kind of like her. Now shush.
It’s one of those days.
The kind where I don’t do anything right.
Probably because I haven’t been sleeping much, and worked several 12-hour shifts in a row, but my brain just wouldn’t engage. And, maybe kind of understandably (and slightly unneccessarily) I got yelled at, scolded, and talked down to like I was a four-year-old.
(Now I’m watching The Office and trying to block everything out. Probably not the best coping mechanism, but pshaw).
Since one of the Assistants to the Activities Director at the nursing home (yes, one of the Assistants…why, I’m not sure, considering the volume of activities doesn’t seem worth one Assistant and sometimes not even a Director, although the Salvation Army does come often to sing hymns in their military look-alike uniforms) is obsessed with Taylor Swift’s “Mean” and had it on repeat, I was thinking about it all day.
Plus I kept getting yelled at.
On the subject of mean, my sister is a nanny this summer to our neighbors, and her adorable little charges happen to have these ridiculously bratty friends.
I’m talking Spawns of the Devil here…a common occurrence in our neighborhood, now that I think about it.
(On a side note, I can’t wait to get out of the ‘burbs and never, ever return. Although I’m not sure Bozeman counts as a ‘burb…but all the houses are the same in our neighborhood, so close enough).
The older girl, Olivia, has muscular dystrophy, and when I saw her little friend imitating the way she walks I really almost hit her.
Kids are SO. MEAN.
Why are people so mean? What makes a sweet little girl want to make fun of her obviously weaker friend? I know that mean actually makes me sound like I’m four with it’s sheer sophistication, but sometimes, basic is okay.
I could use my anthropological background to theorize about the necessity for this kind of thing…but sometimes people are just rude.
So the moral of this story is: let’s all just be a little nicer. Partly because it’s better for your health (mentally and physically) and also because I truly believe that karma can be a b*tch.
Not that I wish the Spawn a sad little life (I don’t want to sing “you’re a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life,” because even though I enjoy the song, I will feel four if I start that).
I just hope that the next time she imitates, she trips a little.