I didn't allow him to be King Shit. I actually tried to have a conversation. I'm sick to death of lol and all the other clever internet argot. So much of that crap is so fucking dull. Being provocative is fun. I love it. It always gives me something new to chew on or allows me to see something in a whole new way. Convince me. Don't call me a moron. With this dude, I must have appeared to be on the attack. Me? I just respectfully disagreed. Did I make him feel like less of a man? Good grief. If he can find some little ole stranger so antagonistic, to quote Chuck Berry, "Bye Bye Johnny."
All from the right-hand corner of the couch. A scene. I've had a scene. A real honest-to-God scene. Hot damn. Bob did say I had strong opinions. I guess I must. I must get used to it. Fran 2 lets 'er rip whereas Fran 1 kept it all inside. (Except at work. I could speak my piece when it was for or about my client. I was not able to ever do the same for myself. Until now.) Cutting ties. My goodness. This was one big step.
I suppose if everybody liked me I'd be like a bowl of farina. Tasteless mush. (I must confess I do like that mush with a little maple syrup and a lot of milk. Hmmmm.) You know what I'm getting at. I probably just saved me and my new unfriend a lot of grief. We'd continue to piss each other off. Over and over again. He'd thank me when he's 72, except this whole kettle of fish will be long forgotten.
Did the hormones have anything to do with this? I think so. But I only did what I wanted to do. I just did it. Without the sturm und drang that might go with Fran without stupid pills. (Amazing. stupid pills really have a use. Good to know.) Anne Boleyn, rather than facing the axe asked for a French swordsman. The swordsman, like a surgeon. The Brit with the axe, not so much. Big move, Anne. Quick and neat. Neat.