Ee-vil. Like it's the froo-its of the dev-il.

I'd like to have a little vocabulary lesson now. The word of the day: schadenfreude. I've got it.

I'm sure most of you know what it means—it's the German word for taking joy in the pain of others. (Those Germans—they've got a word for everything.) It's not the most attractive characteristic. I mean, sometimes people falling down is just funny. And, as I said to M1 the other day, every time the Mets lose I am filled with the unbearable lighteness of being. Bobby Valentine getting fired was the best day of last October.

I try to play fair about schadenfreude and let other people enjoy theirs at my expense (and Lord knows, I'm the queen of tripping over my own feet or walking around unaware of large, embarrassing stains on my clothing, so people have plenty of opportunity for it), but what really gets me is when people pretend to be above schadenfreude. I think almost everybody takes a little secret joy in some unfortunate circumstance or another. Things like freshmen getting kicked out of a popular class (especially delightful when you're an upperclassman who hasn't registered for the class), or seeing the maniac in the Firebird who passed you at 85 miles an hour parked on the shoulder in front of a set of flashing lights.

So don't pretend you don't have that little bit of evil joy. It's there, you're reveling in it, and I know it, so you may as well just let me see it. Otherwise, the next time you walk into a spiderweb, I'm going to be merciless. (Note to my friends: um, I'm not really too worried about you hiding it. Y'all are good to go. Maybe a little too good, really.)