You probably think you're cooler than me...

I can't always be nice.  It is possible to actually make me mad.  It takes a lot but it isn't a pretty sight.

 Last night Donald and I enjoyed a wonderful evening relaxing by the pool... or at least that was the plan.  We get down there and the first thing I notice is this Kim Kardashian wanna-be.  She is decked out to the T.  Perfectly tan skin, she is wearing a one piece bathing suit with cut outs guaranteeing it shows way more than any two piece I have ever warn in my life.  Every move she makes is a perfectly calculated maneuver to show as much skin as possible.  She is wearing heels to the pool.  But lets give her the benefit of the doubt.   I'm sure that was just a coincidence.  3 inch stilettos were the only appropriate footwear she could find.

As time continues it becomes more and more obnoxious.  She has the attention of every person at the pool... except Donald.  I would like to say its because he is so perfect that he would never faultier but truth is he has been lost in a bubble breaker game for the last week.  I could have been hit by a bus and he wouldn't even notice.  But today it probably saved his life today.   She was boy who is just fanning over her, but she keeps looking over at D and I.  Finally she bends over to take her shoes off.  And does what I can imagine to be her best playboy pose... problem is she is about 3 inches from my husbands face.

I'm not particularly proud of what happened next and if you could not tell my grandmother that would be awesome.  I want her to go on believing I am the good southern girl she raised me to be.  But I pulled out a move that was straight out of a movie... it looked a lot like this.

That's actually not true.  I didn't  tackle the girl just yet...  I let the pain continue.
As she is walking by us to get to the pool she tells her love interest of the moment that "I just couldn't wear a bikini today, I am just too fat."  Then with a side glance at me she adds that "not everyone knows when they shouldn't be wearing something".

I really regret not tackling her at that exact moment but instead I grabbed my stuff and retreated inside.

So here is what I should have said...
I go on telling myself after hours in the gym, I can look like that.
After hours in a tanning bed (and lots of skin cancer), I can look like you.
I can get my boobs redone every 2 years, to look like you.
But you will always be a hateful b***h.  No surgery will fix that.
And my guess that whatever "wonderful" man gets "lucky" enough to be with you, will leave you as soon as you start looking old.  And then, I will be laughing.

So I will wish the years to speed up for her, lots of fat cells, cellulite, and stretch marks.  It couldn't happen to a more deserving person.