mean things we say

This week, as part of the MamaKat party, I had been planning on a funny, quirky, entertaining post on the question:

Share something mean somebody said to you once.

But I was going to twist it around, talking about how I keep a running list in my head of "the meanest things I could ever say to everyone I know." You know, just in case.

I started this quite accidentally, when I jokingly told my old boyfriend, M, that since Mr. Rogers died on his birthday, it meant that he actually sort of killed Mr. Rogers. (It sounded much funnier in my head than it did coming out of my mouth) Especially after M got way more upset than I think was necessary. He stormed off and didn't speak to me for days! Turns out, he actually knew Mr. Rogers! (He used to mow his lawn when he was in high school)

How the heck was I supposed to know that he knew Mr Rogers? Who actually meets Mr. Rogers? It's like meeting God! Mr. Rogers lived on Nantucket. Or he did, after he moved there from western Pennsylvania, which is where M met him. I know that now.

The point is, my little joke fell flat and became "the worst thing I ever said to M".

Things just snowballed from there.

And I made a list and filed it away in my head for any future events that may necessitate its use.

For instance, if my 10 year old niece ever royally pissed me off, I could tell her that "Tim Burton steals all his ideas from other people and passes them off as his own." It's the meanest thing I could ever say to her.  I could tell my friend, Nerd "Your hair isn't that great." I could tell my friend Isabella "Nothing you do will ever make a difference." I could tell my cousin that "Neiman Marcus is going out of business."

That is what I was GOING to write about.

But this morning, while I was driving to work, I was listening to one of those radio stations with a "morning show." You know, when it sounds like there are about 15 people in a sound booth prattling on about some subject they have deemed trendy and relevant. Generally, I do not listen to stuff like that, but my designated radio hand was otherwise engaged holding my green smoothie.

(Have you joined that 30 day challenge? Green smoothies are frickin' awesome! I put a cucumber in mine this morning and it made it rather frothy. Not a fan of the froth, but wild about the taste!)

Anyway, this morning, the zany radio crew were having a conversation that was extraordinarily mean. Not funny mean, or silly mean, or "I know you so well I know how to get on your nerves" mean. But really, truly mean.

They were discussing a list of last meals requested by people about to be executed. Talking about what was dumb to request and what was trailer-trash-y to request and who requested a good last meal. Inviting people to call in and give their opinions on the stupidity of the last requested meal of people about to die.

I'm not saying the people who did the requesting were good people. I'm not commenting on the death penalty. I'm not saying that maybe they didn't deserve the sentence they got.

But I am saying that devoting your morning to laughing at their choice for the last meal they would ever eat is is just plain mean. Mean in a way that even a frothy green smoothie can't erase.

Fortunately, I we had adaptive cycling tonite after work and that is on my list of the nicest things to do on a summer evening.

I have nice lists, too.