A few days ago, I told y’all the story about my unpleasant encounter with a woman from my exercise class, the trainer actually. I called her Harriet.
Harriett was hysterical after my factual retelling of the day when Mrs. Hoffmaster, my Kindergarten teacher, told me I would have to come for a few days during the Summer, to learn how to skip. Yes, you read that right. As I am regaling my audience with the story of how I was almost left back a grade, I was oh so rudely interrupted by Miss Thang.
“Oh no, Michele, that couldn’t have happened,” she is shaking her head, as if correcting a small child. She went on to argue that she was a teacher for blah, blah, blah years-well, you can just imagine. Stunned at first, I rallied for the cause and told her (nicely, I thought) that YES, INDEEDY DO, I GREW UP IN PHILADELPHIA, NOT THIS AREA. WHO ARE YOU TO CALL ME A LIAR???? Ok, I didn’t say that part, but I argued with her until she shut her pie hole.
The women next to me mouthed, What the fuck? I, on the other hand, had absolutely no problem saying WTF out loud. As my face is my tell, I can only imagine the look I gave her. I expected the situation to rectify after she apologized to me: needless to say, that wasn’t exactly an option.
On Thursday, I brought a carrot cake to class for the September birthdays. I love to bake, and the ladies in Bands love to eat-so it works out nicely. It was the first layer cake I had ever made, successfully that is. I strategically parked next to the church (where class is held) so I had less of a chance at dropping my masterpiece. 🙂
While in class, I updated my girlfriend as she hadn’t been in class that day. We both took notice that Harriet would not so much as look my way-let alone offer an apology. Afterwards, Sherry and I stood outside, next to my jeep, and finished our convo about the “incident.”
You did the right thing, sticking up for yourself, she said. I think she owes you an apology, at the very least.
At that very moment, the diva walked past us, and gave me the oddest look-her eyes bulging out of her head-behind her prescription sunglasses. At first I thought she may have overheard us, but I had nothing to hide. And then it hit me, she was outraged that I had parked so close to her church. She couldn’t believe the depravity, I mean, who did I think I was, anyway?
Here’s the rub. Just last week she had confided that she thought she may be developing Alzheimer’s, as her father had died from the ravaging disease. Knowing what I know, I asked her what type of personality he had. I know that certain personality types are much more prone to dementia, especially the Narcissist.
She thought about that a second before answering.
“Total narcissist, had to control everything freaking detail of our lives. Just a very unhappy man.”