The Bitch Head Diaries

I'm starting conversations at home with "you know bitch head, at my work?" far too frequently. Fortunately or unfortunately, my husband does, in fact, know exactly who I am talking about. Today I ran into her in the stupid locker room AGAIN despite my valiant efforts to avoid going to the gym when I think she will be there. I was done with my run, and she was just getting there. And she says to me "did someone tell me that you run marathons? Is that right?" And I go "yeah, half marathons". She proceeds to tell me about her bad knees (why she can't run, just to make sure a fatty like me isn't going to go getting all judgy on her) and blah blah blah blah. I literally HATE this woman. But my professional courtesy is such that she does not seem to know it. Actually, it might not be my professional courtesy so much as her stupidity. That is far more likely, now that I am thinking about it.

In any case, I wondered via text to my sister if perhaps she was feeling stupid for her earlier breathing instructions to me, now that she knows I run kind of a lot. My sister poured cold water all over that straight away, informing me that not only was it unlikely that this person felt stupid for what she has said to me, but that she probably feels great that she "helped" me. I'm sure she is right.

95 down.