Naughty Girls Get More Presents by Melissa A. Bartell

If I were a fairy tale creature, I think I’d like to be an imp, sprite or a poltergeist. I say this, not because I want to give up all semblance of higher brain activity, but because I have a deep-seated appreciation for mischief. I may not be particularly outgoing among strangers, and I may be able to “pass” for a nice person (in the sense of being proper, suitable, and generally amiable), but the reality is, I’m totally in touch with my inner bitch, and I’m happiest when I let her out to play.

While I am, at heart, half California beach baby and half fast-talking Yankee, one of the things I’ve come to appreciate about the South, in general, and Texas, particularly, is the way the women here have mastered the use of snark, and can utter perfectly scathing comments about their neighbors, friends, and relatives while maintaining pleasant smiles and perfect lipstick. One of the expressions I’ve completely fallen in love with is “bless your heart,” because on the surface it’s an expression of concern or sympathy, but with a subtle change in tone it becomes an insult. It’s the sort of thing that’s difficult to relate in text, and must be heard to be truly understood, but let me just say that when your ninth grade English teacher was rattling on about “irony of tone” these women were her poster children.

I confess, I’m not above the occasional catty remark myself, though when I utter such things it’s usually in jest and with a heavy dose of affection. I think this is why I have many more male than female friends, however. I never learned to hide my mischievous manners behind a bubble-gum pink smile. Instead, my snarky or sardonic phrases came from a mouth painted as fuchsia as my hair used to be. (It’s currently sort of indigo.)

Or maybe it’s not that I didn’t learn such artifice; it’s that I just don’t care to hide behind it. You’re either my friend or you’re not – I’m not into situational relationships, and while I love a good argument about national or global politics, I have zero tolerance for political game-playing between neighbors, friends, or family. If I’m mad at you, you won’t find a knife sticking in your back, you’ll know because I’m yelling and making wild gesticulations, just as my Italian-American relatives did, and just as they still do today. I might curse at you, but I don’t hold grudges, and in an hour – or less – I’ll be over it. I’m mercurial that way, even though I was born a Leo.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that, according to the dictionary definition, I’m not really very nice. I’m loud, I’m outspoken, and I’m not very patient. I tend to think and act very quickly. I love wordplay, and am not above arguing for the sake of the argument, but I do it for the entertainment, not because I HAVE to be right.

Not that I dislike being right, mind you. It’s just that, put simply: I am a naughty girl.

No, not that kind of naughty.

Look, Dictionary.com defines “naughty” this way:

• disobedient, mischievous (used esp. in speaking to or about children)
• improper, tasteless, indecorous, or indecent
• (Obsolete) wicked, evil

I do have taste, and I’m not all that indecent, but I hate rules, challenge authority, and at the age of 38 have not learned how to sit correctly in a mini-skirt. (I really hate skirts, actually. I’m the sprawling on a pile of pillows type, not the crossed legs and coasters type). My spirit is restless with a capital “R,” and the four years and one month I’ve been in this house in Texas are the longest time I’ve spent anywhere, ever .

And I’ll say almost anything if it’s snarky or funny, and I think I can get away with it.

For the longest time, I thought there was something wrong with me. I mean, my grandmother used to gasp and call me “fresh,” and I’m pretty sure she wasn’t referring to the pleasing smell of my sun-dried laundry or squeaky-clean hair.

Now, I embrace my inner imp, and my bitchy side is a source of power. I’ve learned to temper my mischievous nature with a bit of thought – most of the time – and to channel my dark side into creative projects.

But like Anne Shirley who realized it was possible to be wicked without quite knowing it, I will always be a naughty girl, and I’m fine with that, because naughty is not equal to bad. I know that for a fact, because bad boys and girls get coal in their Christmas stockings, but naughty girls get more presents.

Just ask my mother.

Melissa A. Bartell likes strong coffee, red wine, and dark chocolate. She earns her living writing web-copy for an Internet marketing firm, dabbles fiction on the side. She lives near Dallas, TX with her husband, two dogs, and more computers than anyone really needs. She is the Managing Editor here at All Things Girl. Find out more about her on our About Page, or check out her blog at MissMeliss.com