Dear Random Girl,
I just want to start by saying, by process of elimination, I have narrowed it down to maybe four girls from high school who probably want to rub Icy-Hot in the crotch of all of my panties.
I am looking at you, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
I don’t know what I did to you. I really don’t. Mainly because I have zero childhood memories. I wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD until I was an adult, and lack of memory is the result. The only memories I have are, like, super fucked ones.
Like the time I reverse catfished a guy. I clearly remember James.
The summer I was thirteen… I met James. He lived in the farmhouse across from my grandma’s farmhouse, on the other side of Hog Creek (that’s the actual name of the creek). I was infatuated with him. Grandma told me not to get too attached because his parents were “renters”, and his time near Hog Creek would be limited. The week I spent with James was blissful. BLISSFUL. He was two years older, hot, smiled a lot at me, and we even grazed legs once when we were swimming in Grandma’s pond. After my week-long visit at Grandma’s house had ended, James and I became pen-pals. I really wanted him to like me, so I made up a whole bunch of lies about myself with each new letter. The biggest lie was that I had just landed a modeling gig with Seventeen magazine. James (being the nice guy he was) asked me to send him some pictures. I (now stuck in my compulsive lie that kept growing) cut out random pictures of blonde haired girls, and sent them to James.
James never sent me another letter.
See? That’s the sort of things I remember. The James-Catfish-Reversing story fought his way through my unorganized and overactive brain. It stuck.
What I don’t remember are the things that prompt you, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, to read into things I post online and gossip about my marriage with my husband’s best friend (who also went to Swanton High School – so that’s how I know this clearly a girl from Swanton High School – but don’t worry – whoever you are – he isn’t giving you up – but he did alert us to the situation).
Lots of people hate me, but at least they know me, or have formed their hate over some opinion I had about something on this blog. But since you don’t really know me, you just think you know me because we went to Swanton High School together fifteen bazillion years ago, I am going to give you an actual list of real reasons to hate me.
10 SHITTY THINGS ABOUT MEREDITH
(SO YOU HAVE SOME ACCURATE MATERIAL FOR GOSSIPING PURPOSES)
1. I’m always right.
2. I put deodorant on the same armpit twice the other day, so my one armpit was stinky, and I made my coworker smell it and then laughed about it. Who does that?
3. My boss says I am “unmanageable”. My husband may or may not agree with my boss.
4. I am a talker-overer and an interrupter. So sometimes it takes eight to twelve minutes to tell me your three minute story.
5. I slay people with my silver tongue.
6. I’m not judgey, unless we’re talking about yucky teeth.
7. I sort of like to call people out when they are shitty to me. And by sort of, I mean, I am passionate about confrontation (reference: this entire blog post).
8. I have the mouth of a drunken-one-eyed-peg-legged pirate.
9. I sometimes mistake myself for the cross bearer of all women, everywhere, all the time. My extreme feminism wears out the men in my life.
10. I don’t share things I drink with other people, not even my children. I am weird about mouth germs. Which is an odd OCD thing for me suffer from because… college.
Despite all of these shitty qualities about myself, there is ONE awesome quality I have developed over the years…
I am a girl’s girl.
So, whoever you are, I am giving you permission to stop hating me. I cannot even remember our high school interactions, so it’s okay for you to forget them as well.
I left high school like fifteen bazillion years ago, and your mental health needs you to leave high school, too. Hating me is a waste of your time. But if you must continue this way, please refer to the list above, because I just gave 10 up-to-date reasons to hate me.
PS – When I typed it all out for you, it all feels a little small town and Mean Girls and silly. I know, right? That’s sort of my point. Grow up.