Have You Met My Alter-Ego?

I like to pretend that I am a pretty zen, roll-with-it sort of girl. For the most part, I bring this off. BUT. There is a part of me, a bitchy, snotty, rage-aholic that I keep gagged and bound, locked in a steel cage. It's the part that got me in trouble with Mr. Clairol's buddies and the part that flipped the (figurative) bird to the our old preschool. I swear I should be giving classes on how to offend and alienate people. My talent for it is extraordinary. It would be fine, if I were one of those people that thrives on conflict, but I hate it. That's why Princess Bitch-Pants is under tighter security than Charlie Manson. But she slipped off the leash again.

Tonight, the mother of a friend of DQ called. I like this woman, A, and I adore her daughter, B. But I've always felt A is perhaps too involved in B's life and bristled a bit, when she ventured to make observations about DQ. Especially when they relate to DQ and her boyfriend, X. (Same boyfriend, but my conviction that he's gay is wavering. Scary feeling.)

Let me give you the back story. Go ahead, pop some popcorn, get comfy. I'll wait.

B's birthday is coming up and she's having a party. DQ can't go, because it conflicts with her play schedule. X was going, but DQ allegedly told him he couldn't. A was "concerned." Why was it that she couldn't trust him or her friends? Why wasn't X allowed to have his own life? Excellent questions, but she wanted to discuss, dissect and dismember this on the phone.

Excuse me, I haven't been in ninth grade for 23 years. I have no desire to revisit.

She tells me DQ storms off when the Science Olympiad posse (which includes, B, X and several other DQ peeps) begins discussing the events. DQ has told me all about this, how she and her other non-Science Olympiad friend make a joke about talking about nail polish and leave, since they have little to contribute to the conversation. I pointed this out and A asks, "And they wouldn't benefit from the conversation?"

Enter Her Majesty, Bitchy-Pants. Because really? You have time to critique the social habits of a teenager you barely know? I don't. I make dinner and ride herd on homework and stop two small children from killing themselves or each other. In other words, I got shit to do, lady. And FYI, I don't get off on other people tearing my child down.

"Excuse me? A, I am not going there. I will speak to DQ about this, but I find your involvement in this to be somewhat inappropriate. DQ, X and B need to be given the freedom to resolve this on their own, since they are past the age when parents should be mediating disputes. I'm so sorry, but I need to go now."

FYI, that's only what I would have liked to have said. That was the mature phrasing. I didn't descend into cursing or saying things like, "Get a life and let your daughter have hers," but oh man, that's what I wanted to say. No, my response was somewhere between the two extremes and delivered in the intense, loud way you speak when you want to shriek, but know that is just not okay. I was speaking rapidly and it's probably a bad sign that I cannot remember what I said, only the general idea, which was along the lines of: Mind your own damn business.

See? Aren't I just the diplomat? I ended the call by telling her I was trying to make dinner and had two small children running wild, then hung up. And when she called back a few minutes later to apologize? Yeah, PBP picked up the phone and informed her we were busy, so take apology and shove it. Nicer than that, but again, the general idea.

I'm so ashamed.

I'd like to grow up now, please.

And I did talk to DQ. She claims she was only joking, which we all know is complete bullshit, but I told her she needed to talk to B and X, to get this resolved. And so ends my involvement. Amen.