[bar-uh-koo-duh] 

noun
  1. any of a genus (Sphyraena of the family Sphyraenidae) of elongate predaceous often large bony fishes of warm seas that includes food and sport fishes as well as some forms frequently causing ciguatera poisoning
  2. one that uses aggressive, selfish, and sometimes unethical methods to obtain a goal especially in business

 

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If the real thing don’t do the trick, you better make up something quick

I am not a nice person. Ask anyone. Plenty of people will be happy to attest to the fact that I’m a heartless, selfish, cold-blooded bitch. People that don’t like me, might even say nasty things about me…

I am a truthful person. I am a devoted, generous, compassionate person. I am even, at various turns, a tremendously thoughtful and sweet person. But still, I am not a nice person.

For I do not treat everyone with equal consideration. My love, kindness, and care are inconsistently applied. I subscribe wholly to the “small village” anthropological perspective and consciously spare all the good and worthy things I have to offer for a very elect few; those who have by whatever means, earned my affection. Upon these, I lavish all that I have to give. 

Since I am not a nice person, I am deeply disinclined to false politesse. If you ask, or provoke me sufficiently, I will tell you what I think of you, whether it is flattering or no.  If you presume to tell me what you think of me without explicit invitation, I will consider that more than sufficient provocation to tear you to tiny little shreds. 

And I am very good at that, indeed. 

My mother has, for as long as I can remember, called me her “little barracuda.” She meant it with utmost affection, but said fondness in no way belied her stance that I was capable of acts of verbal viciousness that would “leave a body breathless.” My family at large used to sic me on people they felt needed a good tongue lashing; if someone had to be put in their place, I was the one to carve them down close enough to the bone that they would fit in it properly – plus, tears make good lubricant.

I think about this, each and every rare occasion someone mistakes me for a person they can call “Sweetie”