"Never stoop to their level. Kill them with kindness." That was something my mother said alot to me when I was growing up, and she practiced what she preached. If JoAnne McGehee did not care for you, she could look through you like you didn't even exist, but for the folks she had no choice but to interact with, venom dripped from her tongue and she fed it to them like honey. Mama's voice would be as soft and sweet as syrup, and she could so politely make a total ass of her victim with just a few well disguised barbed comments. JoAnne was the master at the veiled, "F*** YOU!".
I've tried my best, over the years to heed my mother's advice, but I have a horrible temper. It takes alot for me to reach my boiling point, but when I do... you better give your soul to God, because your ass is mine! In my younger days, maintaining composure, and preserving my image/reputation was NOT a priority, and on more than one occasion I lost control and went all crazy white girl on whoever had pushed my whup ass button.
Now that I am older, wiser, and too out of shape to get physically violent, I better understand the methods of my mother's madness. I too have found that keeping my enemies close, and relying on wit and words to fight my battles is much more satisfying than feeling my fist connect with someone's face... well the majority of the time it is. Anyway, like my mother, I too have mastered the art of killing with kindness. Although I will never be as good as she was, I still take pride in telling a deserving person to go to hell in such a way they look forward to their trip. I've also learned what type of individual this tactic works best on, because let's face it, there are some people in this world who not only need a hard core, first rate, soul blistering cussing, (Lord forgive me but I can deliver a cussing so foul you will want to shower when I'm done) but that sort of tongue lashing language is all they understand.
I suppose it would be prudent of me to say that truly I have mellowed greatly in my middle years, and my sweet husband tempered my bitchiness, and made me a much nicer person. Inspite of his passing away, I still try to follow his example and as Moe would tell me, "Take the high road, boo, always try to take the high road." Sure, I still have my moments, like throwing the vacuum cleaner in the yard, and demolishing the broken storm door in a snit when it locked me out of the house three times in a row. But, for the most part I stay on a fairly even keel, and most folks can tell if I like them or not, mainly due to the fact that I'm too honest and have no shame. As far as I'm concerned, FAKE is the nasty "F" word.
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