Nevergirl’s

Yes, capitalization is important. It’s the difference between helping your Uncle Jack off a horse and helping your uncle jack off a horse. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had to point out something as obvious as this. Oh wait, how quickly I forget! There was that one time I told off a writer for NOT putting titles on her articles. I wrote a pretty scathing email, too.

Dear _____,

Please refer to the following articles on natural acne treatment. All of them do not have titles. Can you explain to me please why this is so? Have you ever read an article without a title? Is it possible you do not know an article needs a title? Or maybe you were thinking it would make my day and complete my life in some masochistic way to have to add titles to all of your articles?

A few seconds after I hit the Send button, I felt bent and broken with remorse and apologized for being cranky.

Do you now see why I’m continually making resolutions to be less blunt and more gracious? There’s an evil, evil part of me that thinks the most offensive things. Worse, when I’m tired or angry, my self-censoring mechanisms stop working and I blurt out whatever crosses my mind. This is alarming. I had more tact when I was younger. Maybe I am growing up backwards. I’m now having a lot of trouble letting things slide.

The other day, one of the father-in-law’s secretaries’ little girl came over to play. I heard her say mean things to Alex. My first impulse was to go over, yank one of her ponytails, and spit out, “Little girl, you’re in MY house being mean to MY daughter. You may want to rethink one of your life goals right now.” Instead, I did the multiplication table mentally to restore my inner zen. I just turned 28 this year, I run a company—my second in seven years. I hire and fire people. I shouldn’t rise to the baiting of a five-year-old, right? But then this same five-year-old goes to where I sit and asks ever so spitefully, “Did you pick Alex up from the trash?”

“No.”

“So she came from you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you did not buy Alex from someone?”

“Nope. Why do you ask? Did your mother buy you from someone?”

Which is really quite mean of me because everyone knows this little girl was adopted. How could I have been so unkind? What is wrong with me? Do I need more vitamins? Less caffeine? Some yoga? Ack.

Now see why I’m always, always reminding myself to grow more tact, to be more nice. I capitalize perfectly; I punctuate like a dream; but these days I get so keyed up over stupidity and meanness it feels like a mosh-pit kind of excitement, and I react accordingly.

Not that I ever did mosh pits.

Not that I ever would.

But well, you get the idea, right?

I am growing up backwards, and it’s not doing my emotional barometer any good.

Posted Blathers |