Sunday, November 13, 2016
The last thing I want to do is radiate my suffering out to others, so this post is how one lady's blisters and callouses are doing.
It's been a particularly blistering campaign. (No shit, Sherlock.)
No place for tender tootsies, right?
A waitress and I got into it before the election, when I heard her claim that HC believed that aborting fetuses right up to full term was alright. Well...she used stronger words than these. Sounded a lot like something her opponent would say. I'd sat quietly in my booth eating my breakfast, while she ranted. Her customers agreed; Hilary was reprehensible. You've probably encountered this stuff on Facebook, but here it was, in the middle of my breakfast. The owner chimed right in.
Finally, I blurted out "This is a lie!". And more. But she claimed it was true. "Right there, in the third debate!" she said. Well, I'd watched every minute of the third debate and didn't recall HC making this claim.
We agreed to disagree, hugged, and I paid for the breakfast and the blisters. I resolved to look up the debate transcript and did, to be sure.
I found HC's response when DT put such horrible words in her mouth.
She had voted against late term abortion, but didn't say so. She made this longwinded rebuttal, staying in her head. Doesn't she know the head is the least tender organ of the body and abortion requires a tender touch?
I returned to the Diner and talked to the owner, telling her I'd looked up what was said in the third debate. That HC had voted against the very thing she was being accused of. But the legalese dance she did sounded somewhat calloused.
Anyway, I resolved that my tootsies needed a more tender breakfast environment to settle into, so my blisters could heal. Going one better, I resolved to boycott this Diner. Grow callouses! For days I took my tootsies to a different breakfast place. But yesterday my hands played seesaw with the steering wheel, and lurched my car over one lane. Into the offending Diner.
"You want home fries with that?" the owner asked.
"It doesn't come with home fries."
"That's O.K. You want home fries, you'll get home fries."
I knew she wouldn't charge me.
Tears started to come.
I hurt. I'm scared.
But the villain isn't people's blistering banter. The villain is preferring to grow callouses rather than bleed every once in a while.