I have an enemy to whom I have never spoken – nor do I know her name.
She is a mom who lives down the street from me.
She walks her kids to school every day at about the same time I’m walking mine.
She never says hello, even though I have tried to smile at her and acknowledge her several times.
That never wins bonus points in my book.
I began calling her Sour Puss in my head, saying things to her that I’d never have the balls to say to her face.
Sour Puss, How can you walk to school every day for months at the same time as another woman and be incapable of saying hello?
Is your life that bad, Sour Puss?
Did I manage to offend you without ever saying a word to you, Sour Puss?
Sour Puss, WTF is your damn PROBLEM?
Since Sour Puss wouldn’t actually look at or speak to me, I began slowing down my pace and walking behind her. This gave me ample time to notice what she wore to walk to school every day.
Now, my usual garb for Walk to School time is a ratted-out pair of khaki shorts, T-shirt and flipflops.
Sour Puss manages to pull together a perfectly coordinated casual look every day.
Her hair is always impeccably blown out – straight and shiny in a short bob.
She wears modern tops with cutouts at the arms, or cute tanks, or other flowy tops, with capris that look tailored to fit, or bermuda shorts.
She has not worn the same pair of shoes twice. Sometimes she walks the 3 blocks to school in summer wedges. Her flip-flops are never just PLAIN flipflops, They’re the fancy kind you wear out to dinner. She has sandals or ballet flatsto go with every color outfit she wears.
She does not appear to own sneakers.
Sour Puss also accessorizes every single day. Some days, she has a colorful scarf placed ever-so-correctly around her neck. Other days, it’s fun necklaces or bangle bracelets or both.
And always, big sunglasses. Always.
Sour Puss looks better walking her kids to school then I do on a date night.
Also? She swishes her ass when she walks. Which she does very slowly. As if to say, “If you’re behind me, and you’re looking at my ass, I want you to know that I will take my sweet time walking to school so you can look at it some more. Because I’m proud of it.”
So about two weeks ago, I decided that the name Sour Puss wasn’t completely fitting her.
I liked Glamour Puss better. So I changed the name I call her in my head.
I often wonder if Glamour Puss ever has a day where she looks just a bit frumpy, or the clothes don’t fit quite right, or she is running late and needs to throw a pair of trashy sneakers on. I haven’t seen one of those days in nearly 6 months.
I ask Glamour Puss in my head but she doesn’t acknowledge me there, either.
But what I really wonder is why I let Glamour Puss get to me so. Why do I care that she looks fantastic every day? Why am I secretly jealous of it? Why does it matter that she doesn’t say hello?
Shouldn’t I be applauding her? Go, you! Way to look amazing every day!
But I don’t. I have made her my secret arch-nemesis. It’s not the first time. I create my own cadre of Glamour Puss guerrillas wherever I go, specifically designed to decimate my self-confidence.
The good news is that I’m leaving this Glamour Puss behind when we move in a few weeks and school ends. I’m resolving that at our next neighborhood, I won’t create any new ones.
And if I do, they’ll be much less better accessorized and not wearing giant sunglasses.
Do you have women in your life that you find it hard to like because you compare yourself to them? Silent, unnamed enemies?