Tuesday, 3 November 2015

How many times do you have to kiss someone before they can call you the c bomb?

Apparently, it's just the once.

I received my first piece of hate mail last week. Honestly, and surprisingly, it was the most offensive thing a stranger has ever said to me. Fortunately I grew up in an environment where causing offensive wasn't a taboo, even if it did often cause tears (of laughter). This means that I have pretty thick skin. Some might say it's too thick, especially my sister who is often forced into giving me a pedicure.



As you can see, it was pretty aggressive. Concerningly, it was actually the fact that he used 'n' instead of 'and' that I found most offensive. Don't worry, I'm aware that I'd probably have more friends if I stopped being such a grammar Nazi, but I firmly believe in quality over quantity.

Naturally, my first reaction was to seek reassurance from my best friend. Thankfully, she did assure me that, even though I might act terribly, I'm not actually terrible. With that, I decided to accept this 'gentleman's' feedback and move on. Although, I am refusing to acknowledge the fact that he called me fat (which was a low blow). I was actually skinny once (honestly), but it only lasted for a month because I quickly realised that in order to stay skinny you have to stop eating mince pies for breakfast, and that's not the kind of world I want to live in. 

I could easily write a bitter and defensive post, but I don't think I could ever write anything quite as eloquent as Frankee's 'Fuck You Right Back'. Also, I sincerely doubt that a defensive blog post would ever gain enough attention to pay off my student debt, and I genuinely believe that being bitter would be less attractive than when I managed to get my teeth stuck in an entire slab of steak. Having to explain that it was actually an animal's blood on my leg, not period, was not how I had originally imagined that barbecue going. Plus, even though I do often ramble, I doubt that I could stretch 'we only kissed' into even one short paragraph. Although, when you really think about it, that is basically how the Killers' 'Mr. Brightside' begins and it worked out pretty well for them.

Despite not wanting to rant, I will say that I don't think this guy was very kind. Whilst I do apologise for accidentally (and definitely not maliciously) leading him on, I do believe that there really wasn't a need for his criticism to be so brutal. I don't regret a lot in my life. I don't even regret taking a picture of my boobs in an empty Big Mac box and sending it to all of my friends (seriously, no one was safe from seeing it). However, I do regret every single time that I've been unkind. In my opinion, being kind is more important than most things in life (cake obviously still comes first).

Being kind, I believe, does not necessarily mean that you have to be nice. In fact, I find that I struggle to be kind when I'd rather be nice to someone than be honest with them. Through being dishonest with people (and sometimes with myself), an old friendship turned very sour and I royally fucked up (with quite a few people) by refusing to admit that I'd fallen for one of my closet friends. Yes, I'm aware that my love life is like a rom-com that would've gone straight to the 'bargain DVD' bin. I even doubt that it would ever be shown on channel 5.

This summer, I met a guy who I genuinely disliked for a while (mainly because he was a grumpy bastard who wouldn't let me gatecrash his camping trips), but I did learn a lot from him; he was honest. This guy never pretended to be my friend, but he didn't hesitate to cover my work for me so I could lie on the bathroom floor and cry whilst suffering a horrendous hangover (don't drink free whiskey shots and expect to be fresh for a 6am start). That morning, he showed true kindness and compassion. Eventually, by being honest with him too (which may have been alcohol induced), I'd like to think we're friends now, and I'm glad.

Whilst this guy's hate mail was extremely horrid (and I'm frankly quite pleased that he doesn't know where I live), I do believe he may have done me a favour. Although I'll never condone speaking to someone in such a disgusting manner, ignorance isn't bliss (unless you're trying to convince me that Andrew Garfield and I will never be a thing). Now I know for definite that I do need to ensure that I aim to be kind, rather than nice.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to laugh directly in your face if you fall over, and I'll probably always be the type of person that finds it hilarious to purposefully drive too fast through puddles. I might aim to be kind, but they'll always be a part of me that's bastard enough to commit a 'splash by'.