The Real You

Hey, are you looking at me?

Do I know you?

You look very familiar to me, where have I seen you before? Oh yeah! At the supermarket yesterday, you were on line, a little in front of me. It was the express lane. You know, the one that says ten items or less. How could I forget you? You pushed in a huge cart filled with stuff and when the cashier asked you to go to another lane because you were clearly in the wrong lane, you completely ignored her and continued to unload all your items. And when she insisted that this was the express lane for ten items or less only, you told her to ring your groceries up separately so the poor woman was forced to ring you up five separate times. I watched the professional way you condescended the poor cashier, reminding her that you were the customer and she had no right telling you what to do. You have a talent for making people feel small. The regular lanes were moving faster than the express lane was. And when the woman behind you complained, I remember now how you called her a nasty word and told her to do something terrible to herself.

Yes, yes, I remember you. When I finally got my three items rung up, I saw you unloading your fifty bags of groceries into your huge black Mercedes M-class SUV. After you slammed your door closed, you just shoved the shopping cart away from your SUV so that it rolled and crashed into the front bumper of a nearby minivan. I followed you out of the parking lot and watched you make a phone call while pulling out of the lot into oncoming traffic very slowly, causing the oncoming traffic to slam their brakes and cause immediate gridlock. I saw you cross three lanes of traffic without using your signal or turning your head. Out of curiousity, I followed you and saw you pull into another nearby shopping strip mall where you then proceeded to drive right through crosswalks where people, whith children, had to jump back, even though they had the right of way, as you continued down your demented way, still blithely talking on the phone. I saw you pull into a spot and park your car very badly, encroaching into the next spot so that only a motorcycle would be able to park next to you. You got out of your car with your expensive prada bag and your tight short mini skirt, about 25 years too young for you. Your dyed blonde hair in sexy waves around a face that was more a tight mask of sharp discontent. You walked into the Elizabeth Arden Red Door Salon, the black roots on your head a clear indication of your intent.

I hope you enjoyed your pampering. But know this, karma is a bitch and one day all that you send out into the world will return to you tenfold. And while you look in the mirror and believe that you see this:


In reality, what the rest of us see is the real you. And the real you looks like this: