Nest of Trumps

My dispute over the garden has probably ended. Injustice has prevailed, with the help of someone who was nominally my friend. Let's call her Noni. She took sides on the basis of her own, narcissistic impulses, doing the wrong thing in the interest of looking good. No facts were examined. No gardens were inspected. Neither side was impartially interviewed and the results compared, correlated and checked for accuracy.

Noni was involved in my last horrible garden failure. It took myself and a helper most of a day to clean up the mess. The weeds were four feet tall. Everything had to be done her way: no herbicides or bad vibes. Also no food. That's not quite fair. Early in the season there were beans and basil and other things. But the young, hippie gardeners tend to flee when the heat comes up and the weeds grow. They want the easy life. 

Has it it ever occurred to you how much worse your life is because you met someone? My life is nothing but worse for having met Noni. She is critical and self-righteous, with paranoid tendencies. I will have nothing more to do with her and it is an excellent and fortunate escape. She was in a nest of Trumps, a narcissistic little world it which reality is constantly reworked to suit the need for constant buildup and reassurance.