Stealing gets my goat. No really�someone actually stole my goat!

What did you say?

Oh no, no, not a bleating goat. Not with horns, silly. By �goat� I mean pantyhose. I haven�t been this pissed since somebody stole my mail. Or stole my brie and my cat Amelia. Or my dignity. Or my wallet. Or since somebody tried to steal my songs. Oh wait. I�m not as pissed as I was those times. But it doesn�t change the fact that so many humans are TAKERS! Little sticky-fingered entitled bastards. I bought a dumb four-pack of cheesebag tan pantyhose from Targ� last week because there were no more one-packs and I was all jazzed about dressing up as Dick Simmons for Halloween and needed to have the well-tanned hide. (Of course I didn�t get the costume together in time and ended up wearing a blonde afro and false eyelashes and drove the boys crazy. No really, like, they couldn�t see around my tremendous head and it drove them crazy because they were trying to see Wil play). Anyway, I decide to wear the pantyhose the other night and what to my wondering eyes do appear? THREE pairs of pantyhose (and no tiny reindeer).

Yes, this is not a big deal. But somebody jammed their little shardarina finger in that box and fished out a pair of cheesebag tan pantyhose and shoved it in one pocket or another. All I can say is I hope it was a teenager. Teenagers steal. Not that it�s a rule or anything. I wasn�t a teenage shoplifter, but a lot of teenagers are. Let�s pretend that perhaps it was a girl who got asked to the Halloween Formal or some shit and had to pinch a pair of pantyhose because her mom wouldn�t buy her anything. And now those pantyhose are probably shoved under the dashboard of some fast boy�s car. My pantyhose.

Or maybe it was a cross-dressing boy who was too embarrassed to buy the stockings, all knobby-kneed in his bedroom, jerking it in the mirror, hoping his mother won�t walk in. And cheers to him for not borrowing a pair of his mother�s pantyhose because there�s just something kind of wrong about that.

I really don�t give a shit about the pantyhose. It�s just takers that piss me off. In fact, I learned recently that a �friend� (who has already given me dark and quietly hostile vibes) steals. It really surprised me but it explained a lot. And made me realize that my instincts about this �friend� were right. One of those people who always manages to make me feel uncomfortable every single goll dern time we hang out. And somehow I always end up paying. Even when it is supposedly going to be this person�s treat.

So I�m done. I decided long ago (never to walk in anyone�s shadow) that when I detect that palpable sense of entitlement coupled with desperation and a purposefully studied quiet voice to hide the hostility flowing like lava below the surface, I would walk away from it. I used to get in too deep with people like that, giving the benefit of the doubt again and again, feeling bad that maybe I just wasn�t bending enough to their energy. But fuck that. People have energy for a reason and some people�s force fields or whatever they are make me want to run the other way. So from now on, that�s what I�m going to do. Because I�ve been right too many times and stayed there and gnashed my teeth until the bitter end. And it never does anyone any good. I can�t help these people be happy. They�re out to take and they made that decision a long time ago.

This is how I picture these people: