She's Not My Type

My friend, Adam, is funny. He left a comment for my previous post which has brought a chuckle to my throat, escaping out through my mouth and ending with a smile on my lips. Thanks, Adam. And in response to his response I say, "She's not my type", and here is why: She was kinda mean. She even said she was mean, which came out more so on the second day than on the first. Not mean like, "Wow. She's down right cruel." But she had an edge. I'd forgotten to mention that, previously. Ahhhh... but isn't that classic? In 5th grade, Tay Roberts decided that she didn't like me and was horribly cruel to me in front of anyone who was around--and we had the same friends. She was the queen bee in my 5th grade circle of friends and, though no one else was out and out mean to me, no one stuck up for me, either. It didn't help that my family had no money, wore used clothing and were Bountiful, Utah's version of hay seeds. Her daily doses of "Where do shop, at Kmart?" insults--because at the time, there was no greater insult than being accused of owning anything from the big, blue "K"--did not, however, stop me from including her in the big slumber party/pizza eating/toilet papering extravaganza I hosted in the late spring. And she came. I have a picture to prove it. She was still mean to me and I still wanted her to like me. She never really did. Though my fellow pledge room buddy wasn't mean like Tay, I can see how she had the potential to behave in such a way in a grade school environment. So, no, Adam. She is not crushable. Maybe another day I'll tell you about my friend, K., whose approval I craved, was good friends with AND for whom I had a big, whoppin' crush...