Oh dear, the twins were at it again. Those bratty, preteen girls (potentially the most dangerous and merciless of all living creatures, of course), standing less than 50 feet away, whispering to their bratty little friends, simultaneously casting furtive glances in my direction, smiling, laughing, and continuing to whisper. This little activity had been going on sporadically over the years, and I’d begun to wonder if they’d finally outgrown such childish behavior. Clearly, they hadn’t.

“What were they laughing at,” I mused. What could there possibly be wrong with me in such an outstanding way as to provide fodder for preteen gossip for such a long time? I was curious, but more than anything, I was annoyed. Stupid little children playing games, I know, but still. The rudeness, the arrogance they displayed infuriated me far more than not knowing what it was that they were saying. Call me pathetic, but I wanted revenge. I wanted to embarrass them. I wanted to humiliate them. I wanted them to know who they were dealing with, and I wanted them to regret tangling with me in the first place.

I confided in a friend, who surmised that my feelings were the result of having been teased in school when I was young, and advised me to ignore them. I reckoned she was right, and that I should probably consider acting like an adult. And I did consider it. For about three-and-a-half minutes. And rejected it. Children they may be, but I decided that in this case, that’s no excuse. Such blatant rudeness (not to mention disrespect for, gulp, “elders”) shouldn’t be allowed to pass quietly, and frankly, my patience for these little antics ran out long ago.

I’ve pondered a number of scenarios for dealing with this pesky little problem. The girls are downstairs neighbors who dote on the Little One and make small talk with the husband, so the plan must be cunning enough to somehow teach them a lesson, while at the same time not making me look like the bad guy. Giving dirty looks had little to no effect, so clearly, we must turn things up a notch. Telling their parents? I’m not sure. A bit traditional, and I’d feel as though I was running to the principal to tattle on the school bully. I’ve thought about singling them out in front of everyone in the vicinity and smilingly asking them what they’re whispering about, and if it’s something they’d like to share with everyone. I’ve considered playing on the insecurities of their friends by pointing out that if this is how the girls treat me when I’m standing right in front of them, I could only imagine what they might be saying about their friends behind their backs – they may or may not believe it, but the seeds of uncertainty will have been sown. I’ve mulled over the possibility of pointing it out to other neighbors as it happens, catching them in the act and embarrassing them. And, evil mother that I am, I’m thinking about telling the Little One (out loud and in English) the next time they call him over that I’d prefer he not hang around with them, since they’re not very nice to his mommy, and then sending him over (hopefully in front of their mother) so that he can innocently ask them why they aren’t nice to his mother. And of course, I could always take the high road and continue to ignore, but it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as public humiliation and fighting fire with fire.

So, what would you do?

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