SEATED on a small couch in her Park Slope apartment, drinking tea and wearing a muted dress of lavender and brown, Julie Metz appears to be a tranquil and composed slip of a thing. This is impressive, since she is recalling the time after her husband’s death, when, learning of the five women with whom he’d had affairs, she tracked them down, called and confronted them, and tore their little hearts out. nytimes
It’s rare that I link to news articles, but I really I had such a visceral reaction to this that I couldn’t resist, even if it is just to examine my reaction to it. I think you should go and read it, I’ll wait …
My reaction is, of course, adverse – for all manner of reasons (some of which some of you may be aware). Tracked them down and confronted them, and tore their little hearts out.
What an utterly loathesome cow.
I am also examining my ridiculously extreme reaction to one of those blogs over there <–. That chicky who tries ever so hard to be so poetic and artsiful (and whom I generally quite like), but who constantly misspells a couple of very basic words (quite ruining the artsiful effect) and it drives me absolutely batshit crazy when I read them. Deep down I know this is wrong and that I am a judgemental witch (orders of magnitude better than a loathsome cow, hmmm … perhaps I can adopt "Julie Metz" as the ultimate term of derision), so I leave the blog over there and in my reader as a challenge to myself and hope that I will let it slip on by, but it never slips on by.
Please, dear reader, if you see something misspelled (and which is not obviously deliberate or one of those plentiful typos), please, please let me know. Honestly, I won’t be sad, rather I will thank you profusely, because I’d really rather not look like an idiot.