14 Jun Confessions of a Violent Nature
I have a problem. I’m brutally violent and vicious. In my mind. I didn’t always used to be this way. It’s gotten worse now that I’m old’er. Once I hit forty, baaaam. It was like the gloves came off and all pretence at being nice went out the window. In my mind.
I’ll give you an example. Bella gets in the car after school today and tells me she’s scared of Satan’s aunty. Who the hell is Satan’s aunty. And why is Bella worried about her?
It seems a girl in Bella’s class told her a scary story about Satan’s aunty – a woman with three eyes and no arms who stands at the school gate and waits to grab you. (I don’t know how she’s supposed to grab you if she has no arms, but maybe she’s got excellent use of her legs?) Why does she want to grab you? Because she wants to smear blood all over you and take you to Satan.
I tell Bella that’s a ridiculous story and she shouldn’t be listening to little girls who tell ridiculous stories. Bella says she’s still scared. I tell her – tomorrow, you go tell that girl she’s a big fat liar and if she tries to tell you anymore scary stories then you punch her in the face.
I’m not kidding. I really do want her to punch someone in the face. There was a time when I would have advocated for kindness and understanding but not anymore. Thankfully my kids never listen to me. I have the most non-violent children I’ve ever met who insist on praying for people who are mean to them. Where on earth did they get such an outlandish idea from anyway?
But it’s not only Satan-story-telling children who incite violence in me…
There’s a radio announcer who drives me up the wall with his inane commentary. He talks about stuff he knows nothing about and for some strange reason, he thinks he’s funny. He also thinks women everywhere adore him. He says sexist stupid things on the radio and I can’t stand him. I turn the radio off whenever I hear his voice. I want to run him over with my truck. Okay, maybe not literally because I don’t want to be a murderer, but symbolically speaking? Yeah, somebody needs to run him over with a truck.
There’s a woman at church who is the self-appointed spiritual fashion police. She tells men when their haircuts are offensive ( to God. Because she’s his mouthpiece.) She fidgets with boys’ ties and tells them how to fix them properly – even if they’re not her sons, grandsons or even second cousins twice removed. She buttons up women’s tops in case their wicked breasts leap out and smack someone on the face. She tells you when your skirt is too short, your dress is too tight, your sleeves are too scandalous, your lipstick is too red and your hair is too slutty. (Did you know that hair could be slutty? Me neither.) I want to throw things at her. Maybe a chair? Okay, a bit much…maybe a piece of chalk? Fine…some dead flowers then. (It is church after all.) Either way, she’s got me seething to throw something.
My tolerance levels on social media have also taken a nosedive. I used to strive to be pleasant, patient and practise kindness and longsuffering to all. Not anymore. I am deleting, unfriending and Blocking people left, right and center now. And laughing maniacally as I do so. (It’s very liberating – you should try it!) It’s amazing how many complete strangers think that being ‘Friends’ on Facebook gives them the right to message you with a lecture about how you should act/talk/think and what articles you should and shouldn’t share online. I used to engage with such helpful busybody people. Now, I give them the proverbial finger, throw in a few choice words and then DELETE.
I have a list of people who I want to hit over the head with a frying pan. Or vaporize with a laser gun. That alone is an indicator of my violent nature.
Am I the only one who has such a list??