Mean Girl

I admit it I can be a wee bit judgmental sometimes. I try so hard not to be, but it appears to be part of my nature. Perhaps judgemental is the wrong word. It is just that with ten years of experience interviewing people and determining "job fit" within a course of an hour, I like to think that I have learned to read folks pretty well. Within a few minutes of meeting a new person I can usually determine whether or not we have any chance of being friends.





But I try. I try to keep an open mind. Okay, so she is an attachment parenting fanatic who plans to breastfeed until baby turns four, and who spent the previous five years living in an yurt eating only raw foods and she turns her nose up to alcohol, she could be nice. But wait. She doesn't drink and I could never invite her over for fear that she would discover my giant stash of Oscar Myer hot dogs in the fridge. And, did I mention that she doesn't drink?





I know that I should try harder. Variety is the spice of life. We need to embrace diversity. It takes all kinds. You get the idea, and so do I. I try to live by those values, but sometimes, I am still, shall we say caddy?





Today is a perfect example. I was at the Y headed to the locker rooms for a quick shower, when I passed by the dance studio where they hold group classes. Some days it is salsa or hip hop, or it might be yoga our step aerobics. Today, I have no idea what they were doing. The group was comprised of the usual suspects, the retired and fit grandmas, the sleepy stay at home moms there to simply get away from their kids for an hour, and a few skinny spastic hard-cores dancing circles around everyone else. Some sort of Caribbean inspired music was playing, and the women were engaged in for lack of a better word, free-form "dance". As I watched, I tried to have the appropriate response. Good for them, there they are expressing themselves, moving their bodies, being active, dancing without any noticeable sense of self consciousness.

But then... was that middle aged white woman doing some sort of bizarre African variation of the electric slide? The evil thoughts started to creep in. Did that overweight lady with the face tattoo really think she was getting exercise by bouncing (ever so slightly) up and down with her hands clasped in front in prayer? Why doesn't that skinny blond just go for a run rather than race back and forth across the room flapping her arms? These people looked... ridiculous. Seriously. Every now and then someone would yell out a "whoop" of encouragement to one of her buddies. They would be better off to look at their dancing friends and tell them honestly to stop. They are embarrassing themselves. Don't they see that??

Apparently not. And good for them.

I'm the mean girl. I am the one who should feel ashamed.

But c'mon.....