The deadliest, jelliest site ever. Brought to you by Niamh Shaw

The other day I got reacquainted with my bitching skills. Over the years the disintegration of my cells has been accompanied by a general mellowing. I haven’t started to wear slippers regularly but it’s probably only a matter of time – and a short matter at that.

Well, the other day I was really REALLY bitchy. A friend of mine said, “You mean more bitchy than usual?” But bless him, he’s just being kind.

So ANYWAY, I was at the tailor’s in Satwa to collect a shirt, when behind me I heard someone say, “Is that Niamh?”

It was Dom, an old boss of mine. Before I joined Ex-Employer I used to work for a small publishing company that always did everything on the cheap – no corner went uncut, no vendor escaped unscrewed. I lasted about three months.

Normally I have more sticking power – witness five point five years with Ex-Employer – but the main reason I left was Dom’s business partner Eileen. This fascist witch, a graduate of Satan’s School of Upper Management and Psychological Torture, transformed my life into a living hell. Really, she didn’t take to me at all even when exposed to the face-melting force of my full charm offensive. (This involves lashings of sycophancy and gurning. To date, Eileen is the only human on record as having failed to succumb to it.) She undermined me wherever possible and once described me as a ‘half wit’ in front of my colleagues. Since I’m at least two-thirds wit, I bitterly resented her shortchanging me by one sixth. Another time she stole my stapler and blamed it on Tim.

To be fair, Eileen is a tortured individual with Problems, some of them likely psychopathic. She’s an alcoholic and her husband left her. I only mention this in the interests of full disclosure, so that you have some basis for sympathy if you feel so disposed or wish to save her soul via religious prayer.

Personally I am simply not that big a person. In fact, I would seriously consider murdering the woman if I knew for sure I’d get away with it, but I’m not keen on jail time and lesbians. No sorry, I don’t wish to discriminate against lesbians – more generally women with beer bellies for whom the definition of ‘exfoliation’ is limited to their cranial region.

(I’m hoping that she doesn’t cark it from sudden liver failure, or being pushed in front of a speeding car by someone completely unknown to me, because this blog post rather incriminates me. But I’m not too worried about it – I’m not generally that lucky.)

In short, I have no sympathy for the woman; in fact, I hope she has a miserable life accompanied by pubic lice.

So, I was chatting away to Dom, and he mentioned that Eileen was in the changing rooms. I wondered whether he was referring to the same rancid slagheap, since when I resigned I cited Eileen as the main reason. Also, Dom and Eileen had acrimoniously parted ways a year after I left.

Next thing Dom exclaims: “Eileen, there you are! You remember Niamh?” with a vague flourish in my direction.

“Hello Eileen,” I said politely if not entirely enthusiastically.

Eileen, for indeed it was she, looked me up and down like I had just slid out from under the sole of her shoe. Then she emitted a blood-curdling sneer and, with what can only be described as a sniff/snort hybrid lubricated with excess mucous dredged from the far reaches of her nose, she turned and goose-stepped off.

“Er, Dom, you know Eileen and I are not that fond of each other,” I said in an undertone, demonstrating what you have to acknowledge might be a world-class talent for understatement.

“Oh god!” breathed Dom. “I forgot you two don’t get on.”

A talent almost matched by Dominic De Souza.

“I see you two are still friends though.”

“Well, life’s too short innit?” said Dom.

“Certainly too short to be bumping into that mouldy old slapper. HA HA!” I responded, whereupon next to me there emanated a noise akin to a vulture choking on a piece of gristle. Yes, I hadn’t noticed Eileen standing right next to me polluting my personal space.

You know when someone is so angry they can’t speak? She was making little skreaking noises, veins standing out on her neck, big bright red face featuring throbbing, bulging eyes. I stepped back fairly sharpish because there was a distinct possibility her eyeballs were going to pop right out of the sockets:

“Watch out, they’re gonna blow!”

It was terrifying.

“WELL, it was LOVELY to see you again Eileen,” said I in a rush. “We MUST have COFFEE some time, BYEEEEEEEE!” And then I charged out the door.

It’s been so long since I was last incisively bitchy that I nearly lacerated myself sheathing my claws. I feel very proud of myself. Such a sense of achievement and fulfillment. I have resolved to be snide to pure evil (it’ll be a sliding scale) to at least one person a day, although I do want to make sure they deserve it – perhaps I’ll goad them a bit before unleashing my inner bitch


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