More Loshen Hora

Once upon a time, and a very bad time it was, too, your correspondent had a Very Bad Year. My mother was dying, I realized Primera was having problems, and it was just generally an awful time. During this annus horribilis, we were at a particular preschool, and in this particular preschool was a clique of mothers whose children were in Primera's class. And they were not friendly to your correspondent--not, not at all. They showed up at my house, ate my food, rode on the goddamn pony I rented, and snubbed me in my own living room. And then they didn't bother inviting my kid to their parties. And when I stood in line at the classroom door, I was the mother with the uncontrollable tantrumming child, so no one talked to me. I'd have to do the Perp Walk of Shame out of the building with my tantrumming child who had a SEIT, so everyone would know we had problems. And because I have not learned the lessons of the Chofetz Chaim well, it all made me angry and sad.

Moreover, within this clique was the High Priestess/Queen Bee, She Who Must Be Obeyed, a rather pushy woman who wore Short Shorts and a sense of entitlement. This same person, among other things, insisted that she get to read the story at story time when she and I were scheduled to come into class as Shabbat Moms, because she was a school teacher and she and her daughter had done a whole unit on it, and so she thought she should read it. I don't remember the story, except that it involved mice and she jumped on top of a chair in the course of reading it.

Anyway, the Queen Bee was in Claire's at Walt Whitman, today, and it was really interesting to feel this wave of hate wash over me when I saw her. I am basically, I think, a nice person, but I do hold a grudge. Close to my heart, so that I can nurture it, I hold my grudge. I wanted to pull Primera out of the store immediately, but stayed, pretty sure that I was vaguely recognized but not important enough to be fully remembered. My heart is still racing; I'm still angry.