Had an interesting conversation with two of my best friends the other night and we talked about the 'art of being a true bitch'. They both claimed they were masters of this art but that I wasn't. I was a little offended.Me? Incapable of being a bitch? Really? They even did a little 'exercise' to test the theory of whether or not I could be truly mean.
I'm not quite sure but I think I failed miserably.
I've always been a fairly sunny person, capable of extreme gentleness, sensitive to things around me, and motivated to "fix things" for the people I love. I'm a peacemaker who wants to make everything all right for others but in being this way, does it mean I am incapable of standing up for myself? Probably. Does it make me vulnerable? Maybe. Do I care? Not really. I am who I am.
Now I don't know if we're born with the bitch gene. Or is does it evolve through our environment. Yeah, I know. Old argument.Most of the time I'm jealous of those who can come out with just exactly the PERFECT word or phrase that can put a mean, hateful, bad person in their place. I'm one of those who, when I'm hurt or upset, walks away, gets quiet and thinks of the million things I SHOULD have said. I think...GOD...wish I'd said so and so or this and that. Want to kick myself because in my upset the words didn't come quickly to my tongue. In the end, I just feel dumb because I wasn't quick witted enough to tear the offender to shreds with brilliant, snappy words.
So I've been thinking about all of this and wondering if I am somehow lacking. No, I don't want to be thought of as "that bitch". I really don't. A true bitch, one blessed with that mysterious bitchlike quality that seems inborn, doesn't care what others think. They are tough and impossible to push around. Now, I'm a southern girl and I tend to think we have a 'softer' way of dealing with enemies. A slow smile accompanied by the occasional cutting truth. A sly, almost invisible turn of the knife when it's least expected, and I've employed those tactics on a few occasions. My kids know my LOOK. They know when I'm on a slow burn that I get quiet...scary quiet. They run for cover or say things like...dang, mom, you scare the hell out of me sometimes.
With me, sometimes is the operative word. Maybe we're all born with just a little "bitch" in us. A safety mechanism. A protective device. I suspect I was born with some of it too. I just don't feel the need all that often. I'm slow to anger. Quick to forgive. And I'm me. All the experiments in the world will only prove to me that I am basically a pretty nice person and that's okay.