I'll Get You My Pretty, And Your Little Dog Too

“People who claim that they’re evil are usually no worse than the rest of us... It’s people who claim that they’re good, or any way better than the rest of us, that you have to be wary of.”

— Gregory Maguire, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West

After a solid 36 hours with a fever and the inability to either focus my eyes properly or keep food in my stomach for longer than a ten second period, I am feeling decidedly bit - uh, witchy.

Then the Dread P sent through the image on this blog (I can't imagine why he would think of me in terms of wicked witches - I am sure it was the awesome shoes and the fabulous legs that prompted it) and I laughed because it was so very appropriate.

In my opinion, the so-called WWs in The Wizard of Oz got a very rough deal. Imagine. You're just getting on with your business, sending out the flying monkeys, maintaining the rage, making sure that everyone kowtows to you (because let's face it, you're pretty damn awesome - oh and you have the BEST ruby red slippers); and WHAM!

Some pesky little brat with pigtails and a very yarpy dog smacks a farmhouse down on your sister's head.

So. Not. Cool.

She then proceeds to run around Oz like a pinafored princess, singing twee songs about rainbows and bluebirds and making friends with highly suspect dudes in lion costumes and head to toe tin suits.

Release the flying monkeys? I would be releasing Weapons of Mass Destruction. And as for Glinda the 'Good' Witch... no fashion sense whatsoever. Everyone knows that black is the new black. She looks like an overgrown meringue.

Well. You see my point. A house lands on your sister, your other sister is mutton dressed as spangled lamb, you lose your totally fabulous shoes, and then some kid with attitude in a dress that looks like a picnic tablecloth throws a bucket of water on you.

Hmmmmm. It must be Thursday.

I am going out in solidarity with the Wicked Witches of the world. As far as I am concerned, anyone who floats around in a bubble with a crown on, rather than riding an old-fashioned broomstick and wearing a respectable black hat, needs a slap upside the head. The Wicked Witches of this world aren't evil. They just don't smile sweetly and make grandiose gestures on a regular basis. Instead, they simply get on with life, making the tough calls, trudging away, and yes, often being disliked, because they aren't trying to win Miss Congeniality.

I say to all the non-glittery, non-Glindas out there - be proud of your witchiness. Embrace the fact that you are not one hundred percent lovable every day. Be prepared to cop a flogging from those who don't understand you; but remember this - for every five people who don't get what you are about and who only see the mean outer you, the one person who does get you - well, they are worth those other five and more.

Because the people who look beneath the green skin and the sometimes zitty - I mean warty - profile - will see your inner strength and beauty. And they will know that just because you have a whole army of flying monkeys, it doesn't mean you don't love and care for each and every one of them.

Just as much as one yarpy little dog.

If I only had a brain. If I only had a heart. If I only had courage.

Wicked Witches have all of the above. They just keep them hidden from public view. Along with their extensive shoe collections.