Thursday, August 11, 2005


The one time in my life that I purposely stomped on a bloke’s toe (he’d been rude to me) was the time that he had an infected toenail. Which of course I didn’t know about until he started leaping round the office.

The one time I danced with my wife barefoot and accidentally stood on her toe, was the time she’d not long since dropped a heavy tool on it. (That’s not the worst thing she’s had on a toe: a horse stepped back on her big toe once.)

I’m not given to treading on people’s toes; I prefer not to, if I can help it, since I dislike confrontation - of the face to face, or toe to toe kind - at the best of times.

For instance, I received a bullying email from someone the other day, telling I really should do something that I don’t want to do – am not in any way obliged to do – and I’ve been stewing about how to answer this person ever since.
Unfortunately ignoring a bully doesn’t entirely seem to work – except in terms of putting off the day of reckoning. And so far I haven’t come up with the right bon mot to put him in his place.

Maybe tonight – in the middle of the night – I’ll wake with a start and the right word, or solution, will suddenly be there. Let’s hope I can remember it till the morning.
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