So, I take back what I said about leaving things with “Roomie A” amicable.
It had been weeks since I heard anything from her, until the other day.
I was just leaving my hair salon downtown, when I got a text from her stating that she was at a consignment shop a few blocks away, and how hurt she was that I sold all of her great-grandmother’s things there rather than give them back to her. WHAT?!
While I fought off a heart-attack, I sat down on a street bench and tried to remember all of the conversations we had that lead up to me selling these things. My first reaction was guilt, for what must have been a terrible misunderstanding on my part. My second reaction was “I can fix this!” since I know the owner of the store where said items currently reside.
Moments later, reality set in–the memories came flooding back: the day she brought the items in question to my house, she said she found them in her mother’s closet, and that they may or may not have belonged to her great-grandmother (they may have just been things her mother collected, having a good eye for anything vintage.) She said that I could keep them, re-purpose them into other things (e.g. turn a dress into a pillow, that kind of thing,) OR sell them in my Etsy shop. After I verified that she would not regret parting with any of these objects, I said that I could compensate her for the items if they did indeed sell. She then asked me if I could instead give her a credit for the items, so that I could in turn do some sewing for her. I agreed, and that was that.
Several months went by and I held on to the items in case she changed her mind, but every time we spoke, she asked if I had had any luck selling them. Eventually, I decided to close my Etsy shop so that I could focus on more important things, like blogging (kidding,) and I sold most of my inventory to the shop downtown. The only conversation Roomie A and I ever had after that involved her asking what the shop bought, I said everything, and she seemed to be thrilled for me!
Now that I’ve enlightened myself back to the here and now, I text back,
“I sold everything months ago, I told you about that. I’m sure I can get it all back for you.”
(At this point I would even be willing to buy it back if need be, just to be out of the woods.) She says,
“All I’m asking is that if you have anything else I gave you in your possession, I’d like to have it back.”
It seems strange to me that she doesn’t take me up on my resolution, so I say,
“Ok, I have the brown coat. I’ll drop it off in a few minutes.”
She asks me to leave it on her porch since she’s not home, so I take a few steps in the direction of the shop with the intention of picking up the missing items and returning everything to her. Then I freeze, the clouds part, and heavenly cat-shaped aliens telepathically deliver to me a message from Jesus.
This is not what she wants. What she wants is another reason to throw a pity-party. She gets to blame me for something she can say that I did, just like she had done a hundred times before in our micro-friendship. Any time we went out and our experience was less than perfect, she would say things to me like,
“I can’t believe you talked me into doing this!”
On the other hand, if our experience was good, she would say,
“Aren’t you glad I made you come here?”
Stupidly, I always gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed she just had an odd sense of humor.
The holy feline messengers fade away, and after a short rage-blackout, I jump in the car and head to her place, leaving the coat on the front porch before I stop at a near-by friend’s house for lunch and a much needed bitchfest. I make the decision to stay off Facebook for the next 24 hours, lest I sign in and see some post accusing me of theft or what-have-you, which would then send me into another fit of eye-bleeding, HULK-SMASH, your-mother-sucks-cocks-in-hell kind of rage.
The next day I check in and sure enough, at the exact same time of our text conversation…
“When I’m upset, instead of wallowing I try and find things I’m grateful for….”
That’s it, I’m done. I delete her from my list of friends and hope to all that is good in the world that she’s smart enough at this point to stop contacting me. We still have 5 Facebook friends in common (actual friends of mine who she met through me.) Continuing to beg for attention through status updates wouldn’t be a good idea, unless she plans to irk my friends into sharing them with me, like so:
“I’ve gotten several messages about why haven’t I shared more pictures from Gencon(1). Thanks everyone for wanting to see my awesome amateur photography skills(2), I’m so grateful to how supportive you all are(3), but the truth is I had a truly miserable time and trying to pretend it was a blast is disingenuous. I was made to feel very unwelcome by someone who is no longer my friend(4) and her husband who spent the entire Gencon trip in a crappy mood(5) which I unfortunately caught the backlash of over numerous days as we shared a hotel room. Throwing up two dinners(6) out of stress and fearing more verbal abuse(7) doesn’t constitute a good time. So, let’s just move on(8) and I’ll show off pictures of fall instead. Allonsy!(9)”
1. It’s two words, Gen Con. GEN CON.
3. There were just so many people asking to see photos over a month after Gen Con that she had to address them all through a status update? Not to mention the fact that she did already post the photos…
4. Hey, that’s me!
5. It’s hard to stay positive when your wife’s friend makes you run numerous errands for her, then she complains endlessly and points out all of your faults including (in her words): your “Hobbit belly.”
6. Oh, it’s two now?
7. As someone who’s been in an ACTUAL abusive relationship, I’m annoyed with myself for ending up in another one–with her.
8. It seems like she’s really moving on, not “wallowing” at all…
I encourage all of you to read the following article, then re-read all of “The Saga” posts:
I also encourage you to take the author’s advice, but in my own words: If you find yourself in a relationship with someone like this, run for the hills.
REAL Moral of the story: I might be a bitch, but she’s a terrible person.