What a Difference a Name Makes


image: cafepress.com

image: cafepress.com

I consider myself to be a relatively tolerant, open-minded person. A pacifist, even. Not always in thought, but definitely in actions. I don’t hate much. It’s a toxic attitude to have. Live and let live, I usually say. But nobody’s perfect, not even yours truly.

I have always hated Olivia’s family. Really hated them, with a vengeance. Her entire family. I can’t stand them. Then I met Olivia. Well, that’s not really true. I became aware of her presence and I was told her name was Olivia. I still avoided seeing her as much as I could, but knowing her name changed things.

Olivia recently passed away. No, no need for condolences, thank you;  even when I knew her name, I still didn’t much care for her. You can keep your condolences for the only two people who did.

She lived in a glass house. I know, there’s the saying, right, about living in a glass house? Well, hers was floor to ceiling glass on all sides. Thankfully her house did have inner areas for privacy when she wanted it. Whenever I walked by, I hoped she’d be in one of the inner rooms, because I really didn’t want to see her if I could help it.

One of the reasons I didn’t like her or her relatives was that they are extremely leggy. I’m pretty tolerant as far as legs go, but I do have my limits, and Olivia & co. definitely cross them.

She changed outfits not too long before she passed away. Isn’t it normal to change outfits more or less daily, you ask? For us, yes, but Olivia was different. She wore the same outfit for a long time and changing into something new was a very. big. deal.  Not something to be taken lightly, and certainly not something to be rushed. In fact, changing her outfit might be part of what did her in.

Does that sound callous, talking about her death in that way? Well, I’m sorry, but  I can’t help it. She gave me the creeps.

If I had never known about Olivia and I saw her outside, say on the road, I might not even have swerved to avoid hitting her. (She wasn’t very fast, usually.) I would’ve kept right on driving, only thinking, ha-ha! One less of them to go forth and multiply! But knowing her name does make a difference, even now she’s dead.

The next time I encounter one of her relatives on the road–well, not that I ever do, thank god, but let’s say I did–I think I’d swerve. In fact, I might even get down and help him or her to safety. Depending on my mood. And the neighborhood. If it wasn’t my neighborhood, I’d be more willing to help.

That’s what knowing Olivia by name has done for me. It’s quite remarkable. Just knowing her name has softened my heart. But only a little, mind you. I still hate her family with a vengeance. Can’t stand to even be near them. But I no longer want to kill them.

Well, if they entered my home, that would be a different story. Let’s hope none of them ever gets it into his or her head to do something as stupid as invading the privacy of my home, because then all bets are off.

image: jaunted.com

image: jaunted.com

4 responses to “What a Difference a Name Makes

  1. Oh dear – Olivia and her family are not my favourite things either! 😦 I am getting better than I used to be at looking at them, because your photo didn’t make me run screaming from my computer, but I could live quite happily without ever seeing them again.

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    • Yes, I’ve gotten better, too. I used to drop a book and run screaming if it had a photo of a spider. Now I can handle that, more or less. Though googling “tarantula” and then searching images was quite uncomfortable!

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  2. It gives me the willies just looking at the photo.

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