On being a siren mermaid.

One of my closest friends called me a siren mermaid yesterday in a random text chat.  My instinct, when called this was of immediate anger.   Even when  this seemingly sounding and ultimately flattering classification came at the tail end of a time when, I was forcing myself to be angry.  To make myself dislike her.

So, I looked it up and wrote out a very long response of how though mermaids and sirens seem similar and their mythos are rooted in the Greek arcana, they are separate entities and ought not be classified as one.

THEN it came on me! HOW DARE SHE!  A mermaid is forever alone, longing for a life she can never have and were she to have it, she would never remain happy.  A siren is a beautiful creature with a voice that lures sailors and pirates to their death.  Is this what she thinks of me?  So the response was restrained, cool, pointing my long witch nail her way.  How said , I said, that from our years of friendship, this is her take away.

As I waited for the two grey arrows to turn double blue, I thought, but gosh, it sounds so sweet.  Siren Mermaid, a thing unaware of the power to save herself.  So when the response did come,  “of course I knew it wouldn’t mean what I had surged ahead to assume  Of course I knew you were kidding.

 

It’s kind of cool, I didn’t admit to her, to be called that once in your life.  Even if it’s in jest.

Siren mermaid, that’s me.

A little bit.

Sometimes.

 

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Sheetal

Relentlessly punctual, hedonist denim-head. Inked, vain, lover of shoes, clothes, and handbags, but mostly lost causes.

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