STRANGER THAN FICTION: YOU ONLY HURT THE ONES YOU LOVE

Unless you've been living in a cave -- or in Cooter, Mo. -- you know this is Random Acts of Kindness Week, sponsored by this very newspaper.

It's working, too!

Management is making everyone wear stickers that say, "Warning, I practice random acts of kindness." I was wearing my little sticker when a lady in a car full of kids honked at me after SHE made an illegal traffic maneuver and almost wrecked us.

Instead of suggesting anatomical changes that would improve her driving skills -- my usual reaction to honking -- I merely turned the other taillight and went my merry way. At least it was satisfying to know she was teaching her kids lessons that would make them UNBEARABLE teen-agers. (Insert maniacal laugh here.)

It's usually easy to be nice to people in public, but more difficult to be nice at home.

You know what I'm talking about, don't you, ladies? You know what it's like to collapse after a terrible day and then have your man suggest you put on that "little number" he bought you at Victoria's Secret.

You call him a name that implies his parents weren't married. Then you tell him Victoria's secret was that she wasn't stupid enough to waste perfectly good lingerie on men like him!

I think our training to be mean at home starts in childhood, when we're forced to deal with our siblings. My sister Jennifer used to steal my Barbie dolls. I'd find them later, naked and with bizarre hairstyles that Barbie wouldn't be caught DEAD in if it were up to her.

My retaliation was waking up first, tiptoeing into her room and singing "Rise and Shine" at the top of my lungs.

We also developed cruel nicknames for each other based loosely on our physical traits -- "Dumbo" for the one with big ears, "Ronald McDonald-Head" for the one with wiry red hair, etc. My 13-year-old brother Mark wore Scooby-Doo training pants and can be pushed into a rage even today by calling him "Scoob." Try it.

It doesn't end with adulthood, either. You just move away from the name-calling and simply insult each other's boyfriends, jobs and choice of clothing.

Then there's marriage, where you can be meanest of the mean. Husbands and wives know how to push each other's buttons like no other people on Earth. Way before they walked down the aisle, husbands and wives revealed their deepest worries and fears, and these can be dredged up and picked at like a recurring cold sores.

Let's say The Other Half and I are having a fight about the fact that we never do anything anymore, one of our favorites. I mention that he isn't as romantic as he used to be. He mentions that he was more romantic when I was less fat. I mention that I wasn't fat until I started dating him, and what does that tell him?

Then we launch into the who-gets-to-leave segment. The first one to grab the car keys and run out the door wins.

But that's going to change. In the spirit of Random Acts of Kindness Week, I'm going to be nicer to my sisters -- even if they do date or even marry cheeseheads -- and nicer to The Other Half.

I'll even let him grab his keys and get out the door first.

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.