|Can you be a mean girl in elementary school? No, right?
Please tell me you have a hard time believing that I was a mean girl in elementary school. Please? I wasn’t mean all the time, of course, but I had my moments in…
kindergarten: My mom was always up at my school helping teachers and volunteering for stuff. Maybe I felt more confident when she was around? One day when she was in my Kindergarten classroom to pick me up early, she was talking to my teacher at her desk. I was standing in the front of the room and thought this would be a good time to pull the chair out from under a boy named Ross. So, as Ross started to sit down, I swiped his chair (“TAKE THAT, ROSS!!!”) he fell down, I giggled and my mom and teacher gave me horrified looks.
second grade: Every day at recess a girl named Joanna wanted to walk around the courtyard with me and pick pebbles off the pebbled-wall on the side of the school. So, I would walk around with her and then suddenly, I would turn to her and say, “Joanna, I don’t want to be your friend anymore.” She would start crying and I would just stare at her. I think I was fascinated by her sudden reaction to just words I was saying. (“GET A GRIP, JOANNA!!”) This scene would repeat itself several more times in second grade. Horrible, right? (I’m just glad all those pebbles we picked off the wall didn’t weaken the structure of the building resulting in an implosion. That would be mean, youknowwhati’msayin?)
third grade: The meanest thing I can remember about third grade is just staring at a girl’s bottom on the little attached stools of the cafeteria tables and being in awe that it covered the whole thing. She was older than me, so, I guess it was no wonder that it did. (“Oh, my gah, Becky, look at her butt. It is SO big!”) Still, every time I saw her until I graduated from high school I thought of her as the girl with the butt that covered the whole seat.
fourth grade: It was apparently “the thing” to get a bowl of pickles from the lunch line. I’m not exactly sure what happened, really. Either I got the bowl of pickles or Nicole did, but one of us wasn’t sharing and one of us wanted some pickles. So, after lunch in the restroom, Nicole confronted me about the pickle fiasco while I was on my way into a stall and she slammed the door so that it hit me in the head. I began crying (“Mean girls don’t cry, Kelley! Get yourself together!”), the teacher came in the restroom and seconds later we were in the principal’s office.
fifth grade: This is where it really gets mean. On Valentine’s Day one year, a boy that liked me handed me a box of chocolates with a sweet note. I handed it back, told him I didn’t want it and ran off. A couple of months later, he gave me a little gift for my birthday. Again, I handed it back, told him I didn’t want it and ran off. At my birthday party a few days later, I opened a gift from a friend and it happened to be the same thing he had given me. I was happy to see it from her and thanked her. Just afterwards, she told me it was actually the gift from him. So, I…..handed it back, said I didn’t want it and ran out of the room. My mom made me apologize to my friends and that boy over the phone. I started the phone call off with, “My mom told me to call…”
The ironic thing about it all is that teachers would say I was a very good kid. I never really got in trouble in class or anything. I was quiet, respectful, etc., but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t a mean girl sometimes, too. Shame on me.
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