Fast-forward forty years to when I felt entitled to free expression. I was widely acclaimed for my sense of humor, often speaking tongue-in-cheek. While I do speak with spunk and bite, I never used my word smithery to wound, though I might have wanted to in instances when I’d felt hurt.
Dang! Where was that great Shakespearean retort when I needed one?
However, I soon learned that my playful nature didn’t always translate well and some blog readers took offense. Family rifts opened like crevasses in ice – yikes! Three times – ack! It was swords or pistols at dawn!
Because the offended peeps were in my husband’s family, he had to play mediator. Bless his heart, he didn’t throw me under the bus. He loved me best and most, after all, and knew my intentions were good. He understood that the slighted ones were over-wrought – and found a way to defend me and my sense of humor without putting them down.
Such finesse! He’s an ace at diplomacy.
He’s the best man alive – I think I’ll keep him!
P.S. Only pissing people off three times in 800 blog posts isn’t a bad record…