Elle Vampa

I’d bite my nails, but they’re fragile already.

I’d check the clock again, but that feels impolite.

I’d wish the elderly woman would fall asleep so I could send some texts but that desire makes me feel shallow.

I wish I knew what was happening!

It’s Friday evening and although I’m seemingly all-self-composedly draped on an arm chair, my head is nothing but utterly frantic.

I am barely holding on!

Even the TV can’t distract me from my inner drama. I’m only interested in finding out if my friend is a better shot than I.

OMGIAMAHORRIBLEPERSON!

I’ve been going shooting with a friend recently. A mutual friend also wanted to join, and they selected the one Friday a month I look after a woman with Alzheimer’s (so her husband can have a night out) to do so.

Meaning my friends are out shooting together and I’m fearing for my reputation of Best Female Shooter Of The Club.

(Also the only female shooter of the club.)

The thing is: I’ve never exceeded at anything. If I was good at something, someone else was always better.

I just want to be that better person. For once!

My phone pings and two seconds later I roll into an Existential Crisis: she broke my personal best by one point… ☹

Accompanying this news is a clip of her reeling in a perfectly perforated score card.

…

It’s bare minutes later when the wave of green envy/self-pity subsides.

Basterds.

I’d hit my own forehead, but I am fragile enough.

I’d check my mental health again, but it feels rude.

So I wait for the elderly woman to take a bathroom break and send a fake congratulatory text.

I know you lied, is my final thought.

I am still the best.

Unfortunately, not quite so at beating envy.

Enjoy the catchy tune ;)