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Chick Wit: Trying to budge on one old grudge
And now the airlines are charging for checked bags, which also makes me angry. In fact, I'm starting a grudge against the airlines.
So I told my assistant, Laura, that I would be seeing the meanie and I asked her how I should handle it. I told her I had three choices: I could tell him he was a jerk to me, or beat him senseless with my latest hardcover, or strangle him with those Spanx I bought and never wore.
You know which answer I preferred.
One size kills all.
And Laura answered, "Don't be bitter, be better."
"Huh wha?" says I.
"You heard me. Be better, not bitter. You're better than that."
"I am?" I asked, but Laura had already hung up.
So I went to the trade show, and sure enough, I saw the object of my disaffection across the room, talking to people. And I promised myself I would not chicken out yet another year.
Was I bitter or better?
Only one way to find out.
I found myself walking toward him, happy that I had a purse so heavy it could qualify as a lethal weapon.
In case I was accidentally bitter.
I zeroed in on him, and when I got closer, I could see that he was much older than I remembered, or maybe I had never gotten this close to him. When he looked over at me, his pale blue eyes were hooded, and one had a gray rim, like a storm cloud edging in. His posture was stooped, and his suit hung on him. Still, he smiled at me in a formal way, and I found myself extending my hand to shake his, which felt cool and frail, his knuckles knobby from arthritis.
I introduced myself and asked, "How are you?"
"Fine," he answered, then turned away and went back to his conversation.
He hadn't gotten nicer, he'd just gotten older.
But I was better.
Truth to tell, I felt better. Lighter. Happier. I went outside and called Laura.
"Good for you!" she said. "So you forgive him."
