Backstabber

I found out what it's like to gossip on Friday. Not just to sit quietly in the room listening while a gossip conversation goes on, like I usually do. I straight up talked down on someone just because of the clothes they wore that day. And it wasn't like they were hideous clothes nobody should be seen in public wearing (as if that would justify gossip, anyway); the dress she wore Friday--albeit a tad more risque than her normal attire--well, she looked beautiful wearing it. Not slutty, which is what the stupid conversation was about.

I hate it when people gossip about someone else. And there is a difference between venting similar emotions with other people about someone else and talking shit about someone else just to reach the next rung on a social ladder. The former case, in moderation, can be a healthy way to sort out opinions of someone you're not sure about, I've found. But I was definitely committing the latter when her name came up in conversation, when one participant said her outfit screamed prostitute, when I commented on the irony of her beaded crucifix necklace for a chuckle at the table.

The laughter was brief, and the moment it subsided it dawned on me what I just did. Gossiped. On a friend. Someone I actually kinda liked a year ago. We didn't talk much over the summer (I never saw her, and her boyfriend definitely had more priority than me), but we'd bumped into each other a few times since classes at MAC started up this semester. We were still friends (she even remembered the little hand gesture I taught her, haha). In fact, earlier that Friday she told me she had missed me.

And that's what kills me.