Everyone Hates A Critic

“Did you really write that? I can't believe you would betray me like that!” She hissed through clenched teeth. Whitney stood in the doorway, near tears.  She was shaking in anger, her white-knuckled fists balled tightly at her side. I had expected blowback, but I didn't expect this much intensity.



“Look, I'm a critic. My job is to be honest. I'm not giving you preferential treatment just because we're related. You've got to learn to handle constructive criticism or you'll never improve. Your performance was contrived. Only you could turn A Midsummer Night's Dream into a melodrama. I mean, Jesus Christ tone it down a bit!”



“You're being bitchy. You're jealous of my success! You resent me because I'm an actress and  you're just a critic. It's not my fault you're the less talented sister. I don't know why you always hold it against me.”



I rolled my eyes. “What about the other reviews? They weren't exactly favorable. Why aren't you throwing a temper tantrum on their doorstep? I have work to do. I don't have time for your histrionics.”



“You're ruining my life!  If you don't print a retraction I'm....I'm never going to speak to you again!” Whitney punctuated her high-pitched whine with a stamp of her foot, and the oak porch echoed with her indignation. I sighed. I'd been dealing with Whitney's tantrums for years, and I really wasn't in the mood to coddle and soothe.



“Is that a threat or a promise? I've had this nagging headache since the day you learned to speak, and I'd really appreciate the peace and quiet.” Quickly noting her shock and anger with great satisfaction, I shut the door and returned to my work.