The other day, my uncle Harlequin told me about a concept he likes to call “The Bad Fairy.” I’m not certain from whence the expression originates, as my own search gave me images from the popular clothing line of the same name, like this one. The picture has nothing to do with my story, but, I like looking at it. If it helps put a smile on your face, (as it does mine), imagine your bad fairy looks just like that. Or heck, imagine two of ‘em making out. Even better. Anyway…
The bad fairy is anyone who imposes a negative influence on your life. (This is somewhat of a lead-in to the blog entry I keep postponing, and will enter another day.) Typically, the bad fairy is someone in a position of trust, someone who gets you to lower your defenses and confide in them. It could be a friend, or a mother, or a teacher. And when you let down your guard they attack your self-esteem. They feed you negative energy while pretending to be in your friend. They’ll say things like, “I’m just telling it like it is.”
Never let anyone have the arrogance to tell you they “know it like it is.” Anyone who tells you they everything there is to tell about you is a liar, and frankly, is not trying to help you.
Harlequin told me of a writer’s workshop where a female instructor had been flirting with him throughout the workshop. She talked about “the bad fairy” and how she always let her mother discourage her from being a ballerina, telling her “your thighs are too big.” Now, years later, it is far too late, but she still resents her mother for crushing her dream, which is now apparent in this teacher’s writings.
“You have to rise above this,” she said. “The bad fairy is nothing more than an obstacle in your life. If it helps, turn them into a despicable, contemptible character in your writing. You are in control now, and you must allow yourself to grow beyond them.” Okay, maybe I’m paraphrasing a little, but she said something like that.
During the break, as the teacher flirted with Harlequin, my aunt, in a combination of shifty cleverness and total lack of mercy, approached for the kill.
“Show me your thighs.”
“Your thighs. You said yourself you need to get over that fear. Let’s see them, they can’t be that bad.”
The instructor reluctantly pulled up her thick heavy skirt, revealing her thighs.
“Oh my, they are big,” my aunt quickly remarked, faking surprise.
My aunt’s a real stinker, isn’t she? But that’s what uncle Harlequin loves about her. She tells it like it is.
Years later, in another book by this instructor, this exact conversation takes place, except my aunt it older, and obese. And that’s the tale of the bad fairy.