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November 8th, 2018

LJI: Such a nice girl

"I knew you'd do it.  You're so...nice."

Okay, yeah.  I fell for it.  Little Ms. Bambi Eyes has a sorority function and a bachellorette party and just CAN'T work the weekend.  Can I cover for her, even though it's my first weekend off in almost two months?

"Sure.  No problem."

I start laying out the reasons why I did (she's young.  I have no plans.  It's extra money.  Did I mention the Bambi eyes and the promise she'd cover for me when I needed it which we both know is a blatant lie?)

The boss watches her walk off, carefree and says "Ya know, I should have thought when she was looking for coverage.  I mentioned that you'd probably give up your weekend.  Because....And that's not fair"

"Because I'm nice.  I get it."

I'm so fucking nice it's exhausting.

On my way to the bus stop, I remember a song from a long ago place.  My first ever Broadway show.  Into the Woods.  Bernadette Peters owned that stage as the Witch.

"You're so nice.
You're not good, you're not bad.
You're just nice.
I'm not good; I'm not nice.
I'm just right
I'm the witch.  You're the world"

Suddenly my clothes seemed too tight.  I couldn't breathe right.  I wanted to scream "But I AM nice!  I AM!"

Then slow, insidious fingers crept inside me.  I'm nice.  Right?  And that's the way I am supposed to be.

It stays with me.  Always the good best friend.  Teachers pet.  Friends with everyone, even the girls who pick at my imperfections to help me at endless, vapid sleepovers.

I dance at parties and let hands of sticky breathed creeps wander all over me...just far enough to give them a thrill...but not TOO far.  I'm a nice girl, after all.

The nice girl.  The perfect babysitter.  She won't have boys over while watching your precious pet...but might have a nip or two of vodka from the cabinet before Mr' Collins drives me home and puts his hand on my thigh while giving me a sweaty 20 and asking if I want to earn a little more.

Because I'm so nice.

It's exhausting.

I'm still nice.  On the outside.  Because that's my job.  That is the role I have been cast in;  the hand I've been dealt.

But with every quiet "Excuse me" when you run into me because you are too busy texting to look up...there is a small wish that you trip over the next loose paving stone and your phone shatters.  Maybe it works.

Every "accidental" grab of my ass on the bus?  I wouldn't call it a curse, but if you can't get it up tonight...well, maybe you should think twice where you put your hands.

I'll be the one you come to with your dirty little secret and swear not to tell.  Amd I won't, because they are currency, and a secret guarded is worth more than a secret told.

I am so nice.  That is the role you want.  And I play it well.  It's exhausting.

Because I'm the witch.  You're the world.


The fucking YARN FAIRY!

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