vindictive

The Dork came up over dinner conversation last night and Elise told me his family doesn't like his girlfriend because she's mean and it would be unlucky to marry someone "with a big forehead." Inwardly, I felt a ripple of satisfaction and gloated a bit in spite of myself. It's irrelevant to my life now since it's been months since I've spoken to her and years since I was in contact with him, but I relished the information anyway. A saint I certainly am not.

The rundown: she was one of my best friends, he was my first love, and we weren't even broken up for two weeks before they were official. Frankly, the last half of that year traumatized me. What is it about high school that makes it such a virile breeding ground for drama and angst?

After all is said and done though, I manage to shove the vindictive bitch in me back into her golden cage because nothing should excuse my malice. The only circumstance under which one might be allowed to overindulge in bitterness is when it takes the form of dark chocolate. Or coffee, if that's your thing.

"3.5 oz of milk chocolate that promises never to lie to you, to be there in the morning*, to never ask your age and to really truly listen to everything you have to say."

*obviously it won't be there for you if you've eaten it all the night before.