Evil Little Bridget

I am going to come clean here. I used to be an evil child. Shocking isn't it? I was what one might call a tyrant. To be honest, I think most of my satanic drive came from my fascination with the way people reacted when provoked. My sister Meghan, for example, is a very calm, quiet individual, but I managed to push her right over the edge on more than one occasion. In fact, I remember one such instance when she shoved me down a flight of stairs despite the full length cast which occupied my fractured left leg. This is the annoying capacity I am capable of. Naturally I did not limit my victim selection to family members, but reached out to other poor souls including the mailman (dog poop on the back of his mail truck), and all of my sister's boyfriends (it's amazing what a well planned out scheme of locked doors, open windows, and a couple of squirt guns can accomplish). Although I am half way sorry for all of those events, today I need to focus on an injured party near and dear to me, who apparently is still suffering the ramifications of my mean spirited childhood.

Meet Ryne:

Well this is Ryne 3 years ago. Ryne and I grew up together because our mothers are best friends. Ryne was forced to play with me on a daily basis when we were young and I took those opportunities to impress upon him my birth given superiority (I am, after all, six months older). Our common love for Disney movies and Muppet shows made us close fast friends. Despite this friendship, Ryne was not exempt from the tiny depraved person which summed up my childhood existence. I'd even go as far to say that he probably received the brunt of it all...you can thank him later. For some reason I have vivid memories of tormenting him during recess calling him, "Whiney Ryney." I believe psychologists call this guilt.

For quite some time I've been able to convince myself that Ryne survived his childhood unscathed from my evilness, but his latest hair style change has made me rethink the situation. Yes that's right, a hair style change. So simple, and yet so revealing. For the past three years, Ryne has changed his hair style about every six months. At first I attributed this to sheer boredom, but lately I've been suspecting a more sinister cause. "Perhaps Ryne has a reoccuring identity crisis," I thought to myself, "What might be the cause of this? Maybe someone tortured him as a child, who would have done that? Uh oh..."

It's time for an apology, and fast...before Ryne ends up dying his hair purple, shaving half his head, and combing the rest over (I'm pretty sure that's the only thing he hasn't tried at this point).

I'm sorry Ryne that your Bridget-induced-insecurities caused you to buy bottle after bottle of hair gel and/or mousse. I'm sorry I caused you to feel the need to bleach your hair, and then bleach and mousse your hair.

I'm REALLY sorry that I pushed you to the point where you actually believed that a reverse mullet was ok...that was very wrong of me.

I'm sorry I caused you to reject your natural hair color so much so that I don't remember what it looks like.

I'm sorry you feel the need the place a large black afro on your head from time to time.

I'm sorry you have to place a baseball cap on your head everytime your short hair goes "crazy."

I'm sorry that you had to dye your hair brunnette. Being one myself I should have told you that nothing will come of it.

I'm sorry that one week after you did that you decided you needed to cut and style it and take that ridiculous, "I'm a tool picture."

Forgive me and embrace who you are. You're perfect just the way you are.

I had a bunch of funny pictures to go with these apologies, but this stupid blog system isn't letting me upload them. Perhaps I'll post them in their own separate entry.