I've always said living well is the best revenge.
Last night proved it without a doubt.
First, some history.
I used to have two stepsisters, the daughters of my stepfather. Before you start having visions of me languishing in a fireplace, only one of them was ugly. Not physically ugly, but her insecurities made her ugly on the inside.
They were both older than me. The eldest was lovely, she was smart and funny and I liked her. The other, who I will call J, was not as smart as her sister. She wasn't stupid, she was just in her brilliant older sister's shadow. She was reminded of this constantly, by her older sister's achievements, by other people's comments.
So if J couldn't be the genius of the family, she was going to be daddy's fair-haired little girl.
When her father remarried, and I appeared on the scene, I must have represented competition. She didn't realise that I was far too challenging for her father to deal with. He didn't like me. I was not interested in being daddy's little girl, nor did I even have a shot at the title.
It didn't matter to J. I was another smart girl on her territory and she wanted me out of the picture.
So she began to try to make me feel as worthless as possible.
Constantly.
Telling me that she was better than me because she was going to a private girls' school. That she was better than me because her family had more money than mine. That she was better than me because she was 25 days older than me. That she was better than me because 'Daddy' loved her more than me. That she was better than me and I wasn't to forget it.
I can feel sorry for her now, but as a young girl, this really pissed me off. She wasn't better than me. OK, 'Daddy' loved her more than me, but I knew that without her constantly rubbing my face in it. She was whiney, clingy, appallingly behaved and rude. I didn't like her.
This went on for years, until she realised that boys existed and spending your weekends at parties was more interesting than spending it at your father's house. My mum divorced this guy not long after and I never heard from them again.
Fast forward to last night. Chilliflower and I were at an Elizabeth Arden soirée. You know the sort of thing; canapés, champagne, demonstrations and freebies. Chilliflower had scored the invite from a posh department store in the city. I spotted J's mother in the crowd. I blinked, took a look around the room to see if J or her sister were about and then didn't think too much about it. I didn't pay any attention to the dark-haired girl standing next to her.
I was in the ladies' room when the girl approached me. "You don't know who I am, do you?" she said.
I blinked. It was daddy's fair-haired little girl, all grown up with a dye job. It all came rushing back to me. How much better she used to think she was.
I told her I remembered her and said hello to her mum. Her mum asked me what I was up to these days. Well, let's see, a successful IT career, travelling the world... Amongst other things.
J was silent.
Her mum asked after my brother and I mentioned the company he worked for. J had heard of them.
"I'm in property," she bleated.
Before I could ask after her older sister, she said, "How long has it been?"
"Don't ask," I replied, "It will only remind me how old I am."
"Oh yeah," she said, rolling her eyes in sympathy.
"Well, you'd know. How many days older than me are you again?" I asked sweetly.
J managed a laugh and said she would like to catch up. So I told her where she could find me. On the posh department store table, right at the front of the room.
Because I knew she was seated at a suburban retail outlet table at the back of the room.
She showed me where her buttons were installed when she was a little girl. She had been pushing my buttons for most of my childhood. Last night was my turn.
All I had to do was tell her about the last twelve months of my life and where I was sitting.
It was better than therapy.
"Saucer of milk for table two, pronto!"
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