The News of Her Death Failed to Cheer Me Up

Some jobs and co-workers are such horrifying representations of humanity that it's difficult to believe they were ever loved or liked. I worked with such a(n) one when I lived in San Francisco. She was an anorexic and the wife of a coast guard captain. She was also a hillbilly bookkeeper. Her name was Patty Ann.
Her natural hair was thin, long, and straight. We had never seen the natural color since she had it frosted and took a curling iron to it every day. She would only WISH that she were as pretty as an Irish Setter (she claimed that her natural color was likened to that of the breed).
She was nasty. The kind of person who could never say things like, "I'm sorry," "I misspoke," or "I was wrong." Such people like that could never be trusted, in my opinion. Yet, she wore this behavior like a badge of honor and would even tell folks that her maiden name was Wright. I told her that saying you're sorry is not a sign of weakness and that admitting that you are wrong can actually be humbling. She sneered at both of those comments.
So, one day I randomly looked up her name online and saw the word obituary next to it. She stopped using the curling iron and replaced it for spikes held up with mousse. Her face got fat and her lips remained like two thin horizontal pencil lines. She was the first (and possibly only) person I had met who had exposed mandible teeth when she spoke. She never sported the upper chompers. I thought I might have been happier to see the notification. I just shrugged.
Fortunately there are very few people like that in my memory. Oh, I've worked with some nasty people in my day, but no one that I would ever wish dead so that I could spit on the grave. Now... who cares?