Smells Like Mean Spirit

I don’t know about you, but I have never worn perfume. For one thing, I have no idea how to select one. And for another, I hate the thought of shelling out $120 for two ounces of Chanel No. 5, Carolina Herrera 212 or Snoop Dogg—err Snoop Lion 69. OK, I just made up that last one, but it’s probably just a matter of time before Snoop (now Snoopzilla?) actually does launch his own fragrance.

But I digress. This story is not about perfume, but about what happens at the perfume counter. So one day not so long ago, I go a moderately upscale department store to buy a birthday present for a single friend. This friend is a girly girl, someone whose bedroom is more of a budoir, complete with a plush headboard and, on her bureau, all sorts of pretty potions arranged on a delicate glass tray. I cannot relate to that, because since having kids the most prominent decorative accents in my bedroom are stray Legos and mounds of laundry. But my friend likes to wear this particular fragrance, so I figure this gift is a no-brainer. I bring my 5-year-old son along and plop him down on one of those tall, revolving stools that overlook the cosmetics counter. He’s a pretty well-behaved kid, but as soon as he sees all the sample jars of eye makeup and blush, he can’t resist the urge to stick his fingers into every last one.

While I’m sniffing the eau de toilette and my son is violating the eyeshadow, I overhear a conversation between two twentysomething saleswomen behind the counter.

“Did you see what she came in wearing today?”

“I know. So tacky.”

“Someone should do her a favor and tell her not to wear those pants.”

“Or that tight shirt.”

Ouch. While I’m feeling sorry for the unsuspecting staffer these girls are talking about, I can’t help but move a little closer to the conversation. I pretend to be interested in a new fragrance by one of the former Spice Girls, one who isn’t married to a gorgeous soccer player—Nah, it reeks of desperation—and I lean in further.

“And that voice. She is so loud.”

“I know, I know.”

“Are you going to her party?”

“Are you kidding?”

Now I’m completely absorbed. I want to slap these two beyatches for being so mean. But I also want to know whom they are gossiping about. I stretch my neck as far as it will go (and I wonder why I have neck problems), and at that moment my son spins around on the stool, slips off, and nearly decapitates himself on the sharp glass counter. I pull him up on my lap, rub his head and distract him with a box of orange Tic Tacs, fully aware that I’m being a very bad mother right now.

Finally, one of the saleswoman says, “Shh, she’s coming.” And do you know, they both immediately straighten up, turn around, and start sucking up to the woman who just seconds ago they were ripping apart. And no, she is not wearing tight pants, nor is her voice unusually annoying. Whatever the reason these girls are upset with their colleague, their anger has clearly manifested itself in some textbook passive-aggressive behavior.

As I pay for my friend’s perfume, I wonder why women do this to one another. You think you’ll ever see men engaged in such a gossip fest? To solve their differences, guys would just go out back and rough each other up. At the worst, they’d have the nerve to tell each other, mano a mano, that they suck. But you’ll never, ever see men hanging around the water cooler talking behind Fred’s back, about how big Fred’s ass looks in his new Armani suit.

It makes me wonder how we can discourage this type of behavior in our young daughters when we see it all the time in grown women. Not so long ago, when my 8-year-old started venting about a classmate to another friend who was over for a play date, I pulled her aside and told her that if she has a problem with someone she should tell them directly, instead of talking behind their back. “Just be honest and tell her she hurt your feelings,” I said. And just the other day, when I caught my daughter whispering little secrets about her brother to a friend after swim class, I explained that getting a laugh at someone else’s expense is definitely not cool. As Eckhart Tolle noted in his book A New Earth, gossip has no other purpose than to fulfill the ego’s need to feel superior. I figured the sooner my kid was aware of this little tidbit about human nature, the better.

I only wish that all the adults I knew, including myself, were more aware. I believe that we women would not only live happier, healthier lives if we were more honest and direct with one other, but we’d also increase our chances of ruling the world. As I get older, I’m getting better at recognizing and curtailing this type of behavior in myself, but occasionally I do regress. For example, a few months ago I was angry because I felt that a close friend of mine was being insensitive to my feelings. I hate to admit it, but I vented about her behavior to mutual friend, and for a minute I even considered letting the relationship fall by the wayside. Then I remembered what I had told my daughter. I called my friend and told her she had hurt me. She apologized and—whaddya know—we were good. As we started to make plans to go to a movie, I made her promise that if she ever has a problem with me, she’ll tell me about it pronto, so we can work it out like grown women.

Even if that means going out back of Jamba Juice and roughing each other up.

This column originally appeared in Lady and a Red Typewriter in 2011.