Sting Like a Bee

In the final moments of 2008, I made an important self-discovery that would catapult me into the new year: Were I faced with a chap of compromised character whom I deemed worthy of physical repercussion, I would undoubtedly swing with my left fist, contradicting my right-handedness. I would not jab straight on or explode with an uppercut, both lacking the power I would desire, but would rear back an arching left hook, followed with all the might my 5'2" frame could muster. And then, I would undoubtedly feel a brief, albeit powerful surge of remorse blaze through my veins, a quick gasp escaping the confines of an excited mouth. Then, as a lady ought to do, I would dip in a brief curtsy and exit stage left quietly and quickly.



But aren't we so ready to snipe in attack with biting words, often unmerited and stinging more than a quick box of the jaws? In 2009, I vow to use my words less and my fists more.