I'll think of a reason later

It may be my family's a redneck nature (1) Rubbin' off, bringin' out unlady like behavior. It sure ain't Christian to judge a stranger, but I don't like her. She may be an angel who spends all winter, bringin' the homeless blankets and dinner. A regular Nobel Peace Prize winner, But I really hate her, I'll think of a reason later
(Leanne Womack)

I heard this song for the first time, about 10 years ago. It was the first Christmas after the break-up. You know, that break up. The one that you thought you'd marry, and have the white picket fence and 2.5 children and a dog with. (2). Anyway, he was already dating, and I didn't like his girlfriend. For rather obvious reasons. At any rate, I was sitting in my Aunt's kitchen, it was Christmas, and I heard this on her radio, and I thought, yep, I'll think of a reason later.

Hate: 1. To dislike intensely or passionately; feel extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward, detest. 2. To be unwilling, dislike. (Dictonary.Com)

So, two Friday's ago, I was sitting in my hair dressers chair(3). And I was talking about someone in my life. And I wasn't being nice. I'm not proud of myself. I sinned. I was unkind and cruel and not at all loving. The funny thing about not liking someone is that every single thing they do offends your sensibilities. And in all honesty, in my small and petty way, I'd like to tell you everything I don't like about her. I sent a list yesterday afternoon to a friend. It listed 12 things, and I didn't even have to think. Those were the things at the top of my head. And it really felt good to stand up and say "I really dislike you, here's why".

My hairdresser looked at me and said, "Face it Mrs. Spit, you just don't like her."

And I let out this very deep sigh, and I said "yes." Because the truth is, I just don't like her. I suppose I could break it down to say I hate the things she stands for, but frankly, I can't think of many things that are good about her. I've tried. I doubt that I despise her, but I can't, off the top of my head, think why I might want to speak to her, be in her company, interact with her.

I have tried to like her for five years. From the moment I met her, I expected to like her. It took me a few years to accept that I didn't like her. I so expected to like her, and be a part of her life and invite her into mine, and I was just perplexed, because she is, as my mother would say "her own worst enemy." She's hard to like. She's prickly. And it's a struggle to like her.

And because of the dynamics of relationships, I can't quite cut this person out of my life. But I have been reflecting on the absolute insanity of trying to like someone for 5 years. 5 years of trying to find the good. 5 years of stifling down your real and true thoughts. Five years of biting your tongue, and shaking your head, and trying to live and let live. 5 years of not being me, and not admitting what my gut was telling me. I just don't like her. I don't hate her, I'd even wish her well, but I'd sure prefer not having to deal with her.

At what point do you just stop? At what point do you call the game on account of rain, admit that there is a personality conflict and let go of 5 years of problems, and simply admit that you just don't like this person, and short of a personality transplant in someone, that you aren't ever going to like them? And at what point do you say that all the reconciliation in the world isn't going to change that you just don't like this person's attitude. And you just don't like them?

And this bothers me. I don't like the fact that I dislike someone. I suppose I dislike myself for disliking her. I keep trying to be kind, and to be nice, and to stifle all the thoughts of why I don't like her. I keep telling myself it's not Christian to dislike a child of God. She can't be all that bad.

I don't like her.

I give up.

It's ok.

I don't like her.

God loves her.

(1) My mother would probably like you to know, we aren't red necks. Even if we live in Y'Alberta.
(2) For what it's worth, 10 years later, after 7 years of marriage to Mr. Spit, who is the light of my life, with no children, 2 dogs, 2 cats and a chain link fence that is falling over, I'd take Mr. Spit, hands down. God knew what he was doing.
(3) Yes, I know. I go to my hairdresser, I get a blog post out of it. What can I say. She's incredibly wise.