Spring Training

Prompt: Abrupt


Dear Wednesday,

An acquaintance of mine has textus abruptus, an infliction that many people suffer from—perhaps you know a few?

The symptoms: A normally sweet, gentle, polite person comes off sounding hostile and abruptly dismissive when ever he or she types an email or text. You might text them excitedly inviting them to your spring garden party (if you hold such events) and the textus abruptus victim might respond:

As if. Next?

So you call a neutral sibling or friend and complain about the rudeness. Then you discuss how this person is lacking in basic email subtlety skills and etiquette, and what can be done? An intervention consisting of 15 of their closest email and text pals? No, you decide to take the honestly bewildered route:

Hey, did you have to be so rude when you said no? Are you mad or something?

The TA victim then withdraws— nay, shrinks— from his Hyde-like demeanour and apologizes for the impolite tone of the message, and reminds you they are dangerously allergic to pollen and a spring garden party is out of the question if they are to remain alive and healthy. But thanks for asking! I love you!

The cause of textus abrputus is unknown, but could possible be the result of a pleasant personality who naively believes it is impossible for them, with all their cheery good intentions, to offend. Which is why we call interventions or respond in a confused and concerned way, instead of deleting them from our contacts forever.

Completely unrelated to todays prompt, “abrupt”, is the following collection of a few of my favourite cartoons:

cartoon long walks

cartoon man and children

cartoon spring training


Peace, love, and patience,

~~FP

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Rejection

Prompt: Ooze

cell phone new message
Language warning

Wendy was busy that night; in fact she actually did have to wash her hair, having had an altercation with a beehive, a subsequent application of ointments to her scalp, and a seven a.m. shift the next morning.

Colin, who had thought it was time to move beyond the random texting, was not well-pleased by her response.

“You cunt,” he texted. “Your too fat anyway. I was only feeling sorry for you.”

Wendy had a long soak in a hot bathtub, pleased to have clean hair, happy to have avoided a date with Colin, tired and relatively content, until she logged into Facebook, from bed, on her laptop.

“I hope your raped and sodomized by a gorilla,” said the post from Colin Gibbons. She hadn’t known his last name until that moment. His grammar and spelling were below par.

“I know where you live, bitch,” he wrote. “I can see you. My friends wanna fuck you too.

Even though your a fat cow.”

Wendy blocked and banned his account, but not before he posted a picture of a woman performing a sexual act on a donkey.

After work the following morning, the red light on the land line phone blinked, indicating there was a message waiting. She decided not to listen to the message, and deleted it.

She looked out the apartment window and saw a man with a camera. Perhaps he was taking pictures of the building for a rental listing, as she knew several units were coming available at month’s end.

Her cousin Amos called her on her cell, and having checked her on Facebook, asked if she was all right. Wendy burst into tears.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she said, “But I am not all right.”

“Don’t tell anyone?”

“If they know how scared I am, how hurt and demoralized and disillusioned and how much I want to crawl into a dark hole and hide… they would be happy, they win.”

“They? This was Colin Something.”

“Add Louis, Carl, Roger A., and a few others I am trying to forget, and you have a picture of my life since February.”

Amos begged her to be safe, then logged off his phone and set it gently on the counter. Seven threats, seven attacks, since February? It seemed unlikely. Was she being too sensitive? Perhaps she should be a little more careful, a little more diplomatic when she turned a guy down?

Wendy considered deleting her Facebook account, once and for all. She considered avoiding nights out with her friends, or any social engagements where she might meet someone. Maybe she would avoid contact for a little bit. But she vowed not to delete her Facebook account. That would mean they won.


When Women Refuse