Today’s post is not about weight loss, exercise, self-image or fitness. It’s not even about the way we look. Instead it is about the truly ugly people. You know the ones that I mean. When they open their mouth, poison drips out. They are so flaky, cranky, immature and insecure that they lash out regardless of what it might cost them in the end. You’ve probably even seen the bumper sticker: Beauty is skin deep, but ugly goes right to the bone.
A friend of mine mused on Facebook recently how it is that she has such a hard time getting anything done, and yet people like Sylvia Plath, battling depression and egregious circumstances, still manage to turn out poem after incredible poem. An acquaintance of hers chirped– “Some of the greatest works of art and masterpieces came from insane minds. You are just not insane enough. lol.”
This happens to be a cliché that I find deeply offensive. Artists, writers, musicians work their craft despite whatever illness they may suffer, not because of it. So I said that. To which she responded that “we will have to agree to disagree” because she “wasn’t going to argue with a crazy person.” When I asked her if she was an artist or a writer or a musician, (knowing full well that she is not) she suggested “take your meds.”
What is the matter with a person like that? Why would they immediately take the offensive with someone they didn’t know in an argument in which their position is entirely ignorant?
But you know, this is just day-to-day rubbish. I didn’t think too much about it. It takes all kinds and all that.
Later, though, I discovered that our daughter had not extricated herself from the relationship she has had with an abusive drunk, whoops, I mean a “Major in the US Army,” since that’s how he repeatedly describes himself, (especially when he’s drunk). This guy has bad-mouthed our daughter to everyone who would listen because he believed, on the basis of nothing, that she’d been unfaithful. He stole her car and when she went to get it back, he fired a gun at her. She didn’t press charges because if he’s found guilty of domestic abuse, he’ll lose his pension. (Now there’s a policy with good intentions which probably had exactly the opposite result. How many women married to the military do you think are bullied into silence about abuse so that no one will lose their pension?)
I wrote her and said that we were disappointed that she’d chosen to go back to him, and that we were worried for her safety. What I heard back was from him; via a text message on my phone:
“I understand your (sic) a huge woman. Everyone knows it. Clothes will never hide it. Sorry. I’m a winner your (sic) fat”
Well, I have to say I really did laugh out loud. I mean, what a fifth-grade kind of insult. Nyah, nyah, you’re fat. Plus which it would be really a stretch to describe me as huge. Fat? Sure. Overweight? Absolutely. Huge? Well, not quite. Probably I don’t weigh anymore than the Major himself. It made me think of that story about Winston Churchill and Lady Astor in which Lady Astor said “Winston, you’re drunk,” to which he replied, “Yes, and Nancy you’re ugly. But tomorrow I shall be sober.”
I can lose weight. I am losing weight. But this poor slob of a guy will never get over being an abusive drunk, ugly to the bone. I just wish I could find a way to hook him up with the woman who advised “take your meds.” They’d make the most delicious couple.
Life really is too short to waste time on people like that.
Target number today 59. A very sedentary day at 689 steps. (Spent most of the day on the computer trying to network a rescue for a dog in a shelter 2000 miles away. It was a worthy trade-off.) For breakfast: egg, cheese and sausage on biscuit, banana; lunch cream of tomato soup, gingerbread cookie, two ounces chocolate, mid-afternoon banana, yogurt with granola, dinner was a cheeseburger, 5 french fries and half a bottle of Mexican coke. (No high fructose corn syrup.)