say oui to whatever the day brings

“Typist doesn’t want us to talk about it,” Calliope whispered.

“You don’t have to whisper Cal… there are no secrets between us,” said Typist. “Go ahead… write about it. Good luck. I’m going outside.”

Born of excitement and air-conditioning chilled fingers, Thalia rubbed her hands together, “So… yesterday a man called Typist a double swear word. The first word rhymes with the verb used to define removal of bird feathers and the second rhymes with the name for a drainage channel that runs along roadsides.”

Urania looked over the top of her reading glasses. “Afraid somebody is going to wash your mouth out with soap?”

“Well… he stepped around the side of his truck without looking,” said Calliope. “Typist had to hit her brakes to avoid hitting him. Poor Henny went flying from her console surfboard and naturally Typist scowled at the man. Wouldn’t you… scowl?”

“And then he yelled, ‘Don’t look at me you Plucking Ditch,’ with a scowl on his face,” Thalia continued. “Our plucky little typist threw truck in reverse and called to the wife-beater-shirt clad landscaper’s back, ‘I just didn’t want to run you over!’”

Urania pretended to read her book, but she was really listening to her fellow muses… talking about people and events… instead of ideas. Not unlike the 24/7 news cycle… it was almost impossible to resist being pulled in.

“Of course he couldn’t clearly hear her mousy little yell… and turning around tossing a full grown-up scary man look at her, he growled ‘What?’”

“Softening, remembering all of her work to be the best person she can be, to shed her fears so that she can practice the art of connective change, she called through her window, ‘I just didn’t want to hit you.’ He turned and walked away.”

“Are we beyond the drama now?” Urania set her book on the table. “What are our observations?”

“Well… ,” said Calliope, “… emotions peaked from surprise and… danger? Fear?”

Thalia rested her head on her palm just like the dude in that famous statue. “Typist was startled… and so was he… sauntering along with his cigarette and Mountain Dew. Maybe embarrassment, or shock, or fear led to his anger? Maybe men like him don’t like to be scowled at by middle-aged women with pixie haircuts? Who knows. Nobody was injured so… all’s well that ends well?”

“It says here… ,” Urania picked up her book, “…the greatest wisdom sees both sides.”

The sliding glass patio door opened and Typist asked, “Ready for breakfast? Oatmeal or eggs?”