What women think
December 2005

Toxic shock syndrome

You can usually spot her from 20 Manolo Blahnik paces. She'll amble up to a group at a party and the group is gone in 60 seconds. Or she'll mosey her way round to your pod at work and the gossips stop and the pretend work starts. Everyone becomes intently absorbed in a nothing email from the office administrator reminding staff to put all recyclable waste in the yellow bins. Could I pop my recently broken heart in there and get a new one tomorrow?

It's not because she smells. It's not because she wants to borrow money. And it's got nothing to do with the fact that she's wearing a dress from Rockmans (not that there's anything wrong with Rockmans).

It's because she's toxic. She's the toxic girlfriend. And no one wants to be near her if they can help it. She's the carrier, the transmitter, the lifeblood of toxic shock syndrome. The one who says the cruelest things and then instantly dismisses them with a feigned laugh, a sweep of her hand and an admonishment that we don't have a sense of humour. And she leaves us in shock. Toxic shock. Shock that someone says they want to be our friend and then systematically set about destroying our esteem, our confidence and our souls.

Arriving at work one morning, TG (toxic girlfriend) asks how I spent my evening.

"Not doing much, I was working here till pretty late," was my innocuous answer.

"Oh, like till 5.15pm?"

Toxic!

A comment like this is quickly followed with "but you know I'm only joking".

Honey, if you're joking, try and say something funny.

They say it in such a way that you can't believe they said it, and if you retorted they'd tell you to get over yourself. And when you've formulated a reply they've moved on to something else and you're left feeling impotent and can't really bring it up because you would be seen as petty.

I'm meeting a girlfriend at 3pm on a Saturday for a movie followed by a bite to eat and, if the Gods are bestowing their collective smiles upon me, a restorative glass of wine. Sure, I didn't make the sort of effort getting ready that I would if I was going to a movie and bite to eat with, for arguments sake, say, George Clooney, but I popped on a gorgeous summer frock (I love the word frock) some silver sandals (hello glitterati), a spray of Coco (expensive, but lover-blokes can be handy around birthday time) and enormous earring borrowed from my daughter's jewellery box (14 year olds also handy).

However, she was wearing pale blue towelling shorts (where the hell can you buy those things these days?) some pro-life or pro-green or pro-tree hugging campaign t-shirt (don't put words over my boobs, I don't want people staring) and rubber thongs (not even Havaianas).

"Hello!" I said whilst thinking we might have to fast-track to the wine restoration if she's in that sort of kit and she's standing beside me. Hell, I needed a drink!

"Oh great, if I'd known I was going out with Barbie this afternoon I would have made more effort."

TOXIC!

I want to scream at her "well, for f***'s sake, we decided on a movie and then something to eat. I had a venue slightly more upmarket than Subway in mind (not that there's anything wrong with Subway) and, hello TG, it's a Saturday and there could be boys out playing - and not on the rugby field.

But I don't. I say nothing. I seethe, I replay her comments in my head, and I text friends from the toilets in the movie telling them what a bitch she is.

They tell us how much they love us, they draw us into their self-destructive enclave, they want to share so much of our lives and then they pass comments which rips our very core to shreds.

Ever tried breaking up with a boy? It's easy. "John, it's over, don't call me anymore, I saw your car outside your ex-girlfriend's house last night." (Drive-bys can be so expensive with fuel prices the way they are.) "David, I just don't think we're sexually compatible." (That spaghetti noodle of manhood you possess makes me giggle.)

And they don't call. Well, no, sometimes they call for a while, but that's simply because boys don't like girls doing the breaking up. And even though we detest them, it does our self-esteem wonders.

But try saying that to a toxic girlfriend. Firstly she'll say it's your fault, that you have issues you need to address, that you need to develop a sense of humour. Then she'll say that you've read her all wrong, that she thinks you're a fab chick and loves your friendship. Next is the bit about how she doesn't have that many friends and how important you are to her.

What else does she do for fun? Slam her fingers in car doors?

We don't actively cultivate these friendships; rather we inherit them in situations that can make them impossible to avoid. A TG is a work mate - you have to see her every day because you need to go to work to earn money to buy shoes. Or she's a friend of a friend - if you do group stuff she usually tags along. Or worse, she's a relative - usually a cousin - and you don't want to offend your mum by not going to Aunt Josephine's 90th birthday bash.

I was recently regaling to a TG about my work promotion that was accompanied by a significant pay rise, I didn't get to hear "Bron that's great, good on you". Instead I got the standard TG retort, "oh well it's alright for some isn't it".

Or the time I was boasting about a fab skirt I'd picked up at some junk Asian clothing store for five dollars and TG, resplendent with facial sneer and vocal disdain, informed me that it was crap quality, would fall apart in the first wash and seeing I was now earning all this extra money I should buy quality items etc etc - and then a week later she asked to borrow it to wear to a 40th birthday party.

T-O-X-I-C!!

Hey, if you can't say anything nice about anyone, go sit by her.

Read other columns written by Bron

Bron McClain p 0412 326 300 e bron@bronmcclain.com