when words fail me, which is often, I paint. When words work for me and are available on time, I am surprised.

Saturday, January 20, 2007


The cell phone reception at our house is terrible. Tate couldn't hear the message from his most recently dismissed employee.
"I can call your messages from the home phone."
I dialed, entered his passcode and then handed the phone over so he could hear. After he hung up the phone he said, "So, what's the passcode on your telephone?"
He was making a statement. He was insinuating that I kept tabs on his personal interactions and that he didn't have the same privilege when it came to his ability to monitor my private life, as if there was such a thing, a private life that is.
I loved it, before he spit the entire question out, I was gloating.
"(_ _ _ _)"I said with the most pious expression.
"My birthday?"
I smiled.
He hung his head and shuffled out of the room. Humbled.

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