How To Survive A Jerk

When a nasty person tries to make me feel insignificant or bad about myself, I don't "think about my favorite things." I mentally place that person in the following context: Picture an old, ripe, running shoe. The shoelace is dirty and frayed, the top is scuffed and misshapen from molding itself to the wearer's calloused, bunioned, gnarly-toe-nailed foot. The sole of the shoe is worn unevenly and nearly smooth. The remaining, shallow crevasses are filled with gunk and dirt from hanging out in grungy garages, dog parks and fishing boats. A piece of ABC gum is firmly entrenched in what's left of the heel. It's been there for years, gathering germs, bacteria and all sorts of dastardly debris. Embedded in that dried, hardened glob of gum is the aforementioned nasty person. This is her/his inescapable universe and she/he doesn't realize it.

Pity usually sets in at this point.