Assholes Never Prosper.

      The first asshole I ever met in my life was a woman named Francis. Francis Stroughter. She was absolutely wretched. Just nasty, for no reason at all. She was my grandmother. According to her brother, she was never a personable woman. Then when she married my grandfather upon graduating from college...well...it was all down hill from there. My grandfather was a wealthy man. And like most wealthy men, he had a rather "wealthy" appetite for women. She was a teacher, at first. With her anger and bitterness growing due to my grandfather's actions, she eventually quit. She'd run out of couth, and being at a school everyday required just that. She became a stay at home wife. She collected movies, sowed quilts, and shopped religiously. I remember exploring their huge mansion and venturing into her walk in closet where she housed her collection of Gucci bags. The only person she was ever nice to was me, and sometimes my father. She didn't fancy the company of women. She didn't care for my mother. Didn't even attend my parent's wedding. She didn't care for my little sister either. I remember my mother actually having to make my father reprimand my grandmother because her favoritism was so blatant. She would buy me big grandiose birthday gifts. She give my sister small cards.And that's if she felt like doing that. As long as I could remember she was just not a friendly woman. She was always angry. Always bitter. Filled with resentment. She never made excuses for it. She knew how she was, and didn't care that people didn't care for her. She would rather not be bothered anyway. She had one friend. A woman I still to this day, have never met because she never visited.