You call me up and Don your best “Uncle Bruce” voice.
Angry, accusing. Authoritative.
I, not looking for a fight, listen as you steadily rile up the mountain, building justification to explosion.
“IF SOMEONE SAID MY DAD’S A LIAR I’D TELL THEM TO FUCK OFF YOU FUCKING BITCH.”
I am starting to shake. This was your little question.
“DO YOU BELIEVE I’M A LIAR.”
I am not looking for a fight. …I’m not interested in being YOUR doormat, either.
Your words were deprecating, cutting, you bully and diminish. What kind of crazy is this, that you think after all you’ve said, I’d defend your honor?
The best defense is the truth.
“You’ve made it clear what you think of me and you honestly don’t respect me. So why does my opinion of you even matter?”
…and like that, nuclear meltdown averted, the conversation dwindles into another, less angry realm, onto relatedly different topics, as I, chuckle for days, decimated by how funny the truth can be.
I wish I’d never taken your call.