The good me is good, I mean really good. I work hard and don't play hard. Hell, I don't even have time to play! I am cool and calm, with not a hair out of place. I meet and greet, the epitome of graciousness. Mrs. Perfect, that's me.
The bad me only comes out now and again, and everyone knows about it. They all breathe a sigh of relief when she has gone.
Remember, I am female. I hord all the little slights, the odd comment here and there, you know the ones. They cut you to pieces on the inside, but you don't let them see it on the outside.Those little twists and turns of life that I sort of stockpile ,saving them until one special day comes along, that forces me to morph.
Into the second me, maybe I should say, the secret me. It was one of those days yesterday.
The funeral, flights out, kids out of their own environment and routine, a house full of people you are related to, but really hardly know, new job,............all that sort of stuff, caused me to morph.
Why is it that after a death, the closest to the deceased need to fight? Why argue over the smallest things? He had told them exactly who was to get what, and they still fight tooth and nail over it. She did this, he said that.
Well, they don't love me any more. I told them exactly what I thought of them, their bad behaviour, and disrespect, especially toward the deceased's Mum, whom they pretty much ignored.
I doubt they will be returning any time soon. Thank Goddess for that. I don't even like them.
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