Her mouse hovers over the “Publish” button. She spent the last half hour editing a blog post. She carefully crafted paragraphs, structure, sketching a scathing portrait of her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend. The woman who ostensibly stole her first love from right under her nose. There was no way to write about it artfully, no amount of metaphor or syntax can sufficiently mask the subtext: She’s a twat and he’s a douche and they deserve each other! The words (exactly 800 of them) make the hurt she still harbors, the humiliation still chipped on her shoulder, as clear as the current string of glorious fall days in New York City.
The post is all ready to go. Titled: “The Other Woman (Part 2)”. Tagged: 3rd wheels, all men are assholes, all women are crazy, betrayal, betraying your best friend, bitches, boys suck, bro-code violation, dating, ex-boyfriends, relationships, stealing boyfriends, trust your gut. Spell Checked. Edited, more thoroughly than many other posts.
Something isn’t right.
“Does it cross the line?” She asks her (gorgeous and brilliant) roommate to read it. She gets a second opinion from her (hilarious and ingenious) friend Simon, who happens to be online.
She knows it does but she needs to hear it.
“Well, it sure is honest,” says her roommate.
“It’s vivid, I’ll give you that,” Simon says.
She knows she can’t publish it.
That’s not it. She could publish it. All it takes is a tap of her little finger. There absolutely is a part of her that would enjoy putting it out for the world to see, in all its truthful, biting, gory, glory.
She knows she won’t publish it.
She might not want to admit it, but she knows there is something of an ulterior motive in the post.
That’s not acceptable in her book (blog).
She saw this other woman the other day. Showed up at the book release party of a mutual friend and who was there but the little minx, fortunately sans boyfriend. A primal feeling overwhelmed her, unlike anything she had experienced. Her fingers itched and she realized she wanted nothing more than to punch this bitch in the face. To physically beat her for the humiliation, the battles of self-doubt, the pain, the disrespect, the dishonor, the bullshit of it all. Instead she stone-walled the siren, ignoring her completely except for one moment when they passed each other on the stairs. Eye contact was avoided but she couldn’t control the wave of disgust that spread across her face from such close proximity to such an odious creature.
She’s never punched anyone in the face before. Never punched anyone period. Part of her longs to know what it feels like. The pen is mightier than the sword, goes the cliché. She’s a writer not a fighter. Months of intense physical training would not change this fact. Sticks and stones will break your bones but words will never hurt you. A cliché everyone knows carries no weight.
She can make words pack punches. Give her passion, paper, and she has the power to eviscerate. Just ask Harry about the message she sent him upon learning he was now banging the girl he once claimed to think of as a sister. She knows she has this power. And with power comes great responsibility. (Right, Uncle Ben?)
She won’t abuse her power.
She won’t blog-punch anyone.
She publishes this post instead.
Do you think I made the right choice?
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