Gossip Girl Turned Woman

Gossip is an eternal flame, and I’m the moth who insists on throwing herself in.

Take the other day. A group of us were held hostage by a friend’s performance of “Me, Me, Me!”- an evening of monologues alternating between faux self-deprecation and flagrant braggadocio.  Plus, it was obvious she’s been keeping a local cosmetic surgery practice very, very busy.

I think this points to someone who is insecure and a bit lost, a person who doesn’t need dumping on. I might have silently formed my own ungenerous judgement, then let it go. But I couldn’t.

I came home and told Sam about oxygen-sucking alien cat-face. He nodded without looking up because he was working on a crossword puzzle.

This left me no choice but to call a friend who I can count on to validate my shit-talking. Pure bliss, until I started feeling mean; so bliss, only slightly less pure.

When I was a teen I had a deserved reputation of talking behind people’s backs. “Laura, you’re so sweet!” people would say to one of my two faces, the kind one, as the annoyed face rolled its eyes. As time went on, I considered being less of a hypocrite, but passed. See, I don’t want to hurt even the hugest asshole’s feelings. Also, while I see the virtue in giving up gossip, I don’t see the joy in it.

I would love to wrap this up with a resolution to take the high road more frequently, but sorry. The high road, while noble, isn’t compelling or addictive, and none of my close friends are on it.

I am not a gossip, noun, though I do gossip, verb. I’m not proud, but if you wind up on my good side - and most people do- I can be pretty entertaining.