I’m going to write about toxic people again. Well about one person I know. A sociopathic woman that I thought I’d left behind a long time ago.
Once she laid in wait for me to leave our town’s Continental Market. lashings of pretend Polish beer and strong vodka. She called my name and I stood there, swaying, as she ran at me and with the full force of the momentum swung a punch at my face. She ran back to the pub and told the landlord there was a crazy woman on the way in. He screamed at me to get out before I’d even uttered a word.
Because she’s a coward.
She has a midget boyfriend to whom she gives black eyes and throws slow cookers and vases at his little nodding head. Manipulating the relationship so she doesn’t have to let her step daughter stay on a weekend. Threatening to leave him when she found out he paid the grand sum of £30 a month maintenance without telling her. She has got away with so many assaults. With a pool cue in our local where everyone ‘saw nothing’ to completely damaging the lights, paintwork and windscreen of some poor long forgotten ex. She liked to brag you see. She couldn’t help it. Banging on about how ‘hard’ she was.
Sometimes she ‘gets too angry to have a bath or shower’ for days and smells like ripe, rotten, fly bitten fruit with a soupçon of mackerel. She’s a legend in her own imagination, indignation and temper.
I left her to her venom several years ago now and hadn’t really thought about her since.
Then like the proverbial she appears on my friend’s Facebook. Ranting and raving on a heartfelt post my friend wrote over 18 months ago. Accusing her of lying about tragic things. A sort of insanity we can’t comprehend. It must have taken her hours and hours of stalking and reading and looking for something. Anything. We just don’t know why.
We do know that she’s a wendigo that screeches obscenities in the dulcet tones of a 40 fags a dayer. Spouting random evil with the literacy of a Wetherspoon’s alcoholic. Ginger hair scraped back off her face in the tightest, most unflattering Croydon facelift known to all the demons in hell. She hisses like an ugly myopic viper, whispering at the bar under her breath and you’re relieved you can’t hear what she’s saying. You can read it in her face though and you know it’s not pleasant.
Apparently my sister and I are retards too and I can’t seem to be able to contact her about this so I’m writing here: Should anyone be able to contact VICKY WAGSTAFF OF ILKLEY, WEST YORKSHIRE can you point her in the direction of this blog post. It would be much appreciated.
Just tell her an old pal owes her one and it’s not a pint.
Thank you.
