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No man is an island, but some need one.

April 20, 2011

I’ve been reminded lately of just how difficult it is for some people to be civil, courteous, nice, even normal to others.  It sometimes feels like I was the only one taught the basics about personal interaction.  If I can go through my life acting like a human, why can’t they?  I know I’m not alone when it comes to the latter thought.

And to make matters even more astonishing, we’re the ones who seem to be repeatedly burned.  I admit, yes, the fire can go many ways:  in families, between friends, in relationships.   But in my observations it’s a lot of the times the girl who exits the building scorched.  Good girls.  Nice girls.  Girls who don’t need to be playing with fire – and who certainly don’t deserve the burn marks to prove it.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not some sort of über feminist or man-hater or anything.  I speak as a flabergasted observer, a concerned friend, and even a victim of my own fires.

I used to say that world needed a private island to which we could send those flammable personalities.  So they could be far away.  Together.  To torture and torment one another.  Kind of like “Survivor” but no one is voted off and there is no prize.  Well except for us, as without them we’d be the winners.

I recently discovered that an island isn’t even necessary.  They could go to Paris!  To their own specified street:  la rue des mauvais garçons.  On a little – well, permanent – vacation.  Supervised by the French.  Seems perfect.

Situation settled.  Problem solved.  Too bad their street is so close to some of my favorite shopping spots.  Remind me to carry a mini fire extinguisher.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. Jane permalink
    April 21, 2011 11:30 pm

    Having recently careered recklessly down rue des Mauvais Garcons, I must say a l’italienne, “ben detto”! Thanks for cheering me up. Ciao bella 😉

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