From Her Perspective

The story I am about to tell is, for once, entirely true.  Names have been changed to protect the sober. 

Last summer, I was at the liquor store with my brother (no, weirdo, not the bar – it was actually Palumbo’s in Walpole), trying to choose the best deal on a box of wine, when out of the blue he asked me if I had read that week’s issue of This Other Paper*.  I said I had not; as I try to limit all reading time to important things like celebrity gossip.  I had actually never read that paper; not on purpose, it’s just that it never came up.  He said I would be pissed, and to check it out online.  Thinking This Other Paper* had done a spread on how terrible Saved by the Bell is, I checked it out.  What I found, however, was, if you can believe it, entirely more personal.  Because it was actually about me.

I won’t say what they said (mostly because I forget), but it was devastating.  Slanderous.  For weeks on end, I did not leave my house.  Fine, I don’t really leave my house for weeks at a time, anyway, but you know what I mean.  I could barely choke down entire bottles of whiskey anymore.  At that point, I knew what Britney Spears feels like everyday, except my situation was so much worse.  My life as I knew it was over.  I may have walked into that Palumbo’s a girl, but I left a woman.  EW!  Get your mind out of the gutter!

It was a lot of hard work, but eventually, through lots of therapy, I was able to start enjoying life again.  I stopped wearing paper bags on my head and things slowly got back to normal.  Though I would never forget what happened (aside from the specifics, clearly), I was able to move on.  At least, that’s what I thought.

Fast forward six months.  I am happy, healthy, and starting a new job.  Some of you may know that I had trouble making friends at first, but by the second week, I was fine.  I had even found a Work Girlfriend*.  In case you don’t know what I am talking about, a Work Girlfriend is a girl I am lucky enough to find at a new job that I totally click with and subsequently act like we are dating.  It’s that same kind of high.  Anyway, I digress.  So she and I are gossiping in the ladies room (so high school!) about anything and everything when it comes up that we both moonlight at papers in town.  How exciting!  We could write joint articles and wear matching t-shirts.  It would be a blast!  However, when we reveal which rags we support, my life comes crashing down around me.  My Work Girlfriend* works for This Other Paper*.

Memories come flooding back.  The paper bag immediately goes back on my head.  Luckily, I still carry it around with me everywhere I go.  This was a tragedy bigger than hash browns at Dunkin Donuts, or when Domino’s stopped making Double Melt pizza.  Remember how good that was?  Hey – get back to the story!  What was I to do?  Could I be friends with her, knowing that at the parties she goes to, they all sit around and talk smack about me?  That my senior picture when I had a bowl haircut is tacked onto the office dartboard?  I mean, of course they do that, right?  Right?!  I mean, I’m sure that they all hold hands in a circle and say a little prayer before Media League bowling every week, and that prayer goes like this:

“Thank you for the gifts you bestow every week.

 Please grant us the strength to defeat our opponents. 

 And Kati Cawley sucks.”

I had a big decision to make.  I could grow up and get over it, or I could fall back in the depths of despair.  Or I could make a fake big deal about it and use it to shame her into helping me at work when I don’t know what I am doing; no matter how stupid the question is (There was an issue with Roman numerals last week.  I don’t know what they are.  But does anyone really know what those are anymore?  Jeez.).  This way, we don’t have to break up, and I can still make fun of her at will with no consequence.  If my Jewish mother and Catholic father have taught me anything, it is the power of Guilt. 

And that is the moral of the story, folks.  If someone wrongs you, even if it was years before, if you whine about it enough, someone, even if this person is not the responsible party, will apologize.  And you will feel vindicated.  The End.

* Name has been changed