Allow me to rant (squared)...
We're all guilty of it. There's that girl at the bar with the rolls and a belly shirt... you can't just NOT say anything. Or the guy with the mullet and a jean jacket with a Ratt patch sewn on the back (watch out, it might be Sack).
I've had an epiphany of sorts after having shit talked about me right in front of my face while said shit-talker did not think I could hear. Said shitty comment was actually a multiple-burn, aimed at my social, economic, and fashion status. Now we all know I am admittedly unable to dress or accesorize myself; I don't have a problem with being fashionably unadventurous and handicapped. But when the comment comes from someone Stacy and Clinton would rip to shreds, it makes one wonder where this person gets the balls to say anything at all.
My mom used to tell me that people who made fun of others did so to make them feel better about themselves. I guess it's true. My epiphany is that I do it, and I need to do it less.
Who needs to do it even less than me are people who are obese and make fun of fat people... People who have dandruffy, grody hair, but make fun of people with, say, really curly hair... People who have exposed and cracked, dirty feet and make fun of people who's pedicure is a week old... you get the idea.
When you (and by you, I mean the overly-critical) get the memo from GOD that you are perfect, then by all means, fire away. Until then, leave me, my poor, unfashionable ass, and everybody else alone. And yes, that is me on the right, playing dress up at St. Bernard in Ruidoso with a leopard print top and a black bear backpack. I know you're jealous...
Disclaimer: If you're really overweight and wearing a a baby t-shirt that says "You Wish I was Your Girlfriend," "My Eyes Are Up Here," or "Diva," you're free game. Sorry. Actually, if you're anyone wearing shirts that say crap like that, I can and will make fun of you.