File it under: Isn't life funny?

About 12 years ago, I worked with an account executive (a "Pete Campbell," for all you Mad Men fans out there) who had a mass of unruly curls. I always thought her hair was very pretty and admired her for the way she wore it: loose and free.

There. I've now shared every nice thing I can think of about this woman.

She was a drama queen. She was massively self-centered. For example, once while we were traveling together on business, she was upset because the airline had the audacity to question her for being ticketed under one name (she was a newly wed) while her driver's license bore another (Shuh! With the wedding and honeymoon, who has TIME to change these things and besides, she's WHITE, not some Arab!). She could be a Mean Girl. And, amazingly, she told management she was afraid of ME, little old me, which leads me to believe she was one of the least self-aware bullies I've ever met.
 

She was either 30 or almost 30 when we worked together and had severe baby lust. She went on to have two in rapid succession. When I found she was pregnant with her first, I got a laugh from those of us who had survived working with her by describing her beating her husband over the head with the sonogram. "I said I wanted a BOY!" I always felt sorry for her kids.  

I kept tabs on her professionally because I never, ever want to work with her again. I cannot put too fine a point on how Type A and selfish she is. 

She dropped out of advertising over a year ago and, I heard, went back to school full time.

I just found out that she's a .... wait for it .... a counselor. An LPC. A mental health professional!

I hope that, for her sake, she's a more restful soul. Less demanding. Less dramatic. Maybe her own experiences in therapy enriched her life so that she wanted to share with others. I'd like to think that.

It's more positive than feeling sorry for her patients.

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