If I could spit on you I would. There is no misinterpreting purposeful spit in the face. It can only mean anger. Anger of the vilest kind, deep and everlasting. An everlasting gobstopper of pissed off spit. Or maybe not so everlasting. I’d feel terrible about it eventually. Immediately. Before it happens and so it will never happen. My guilt over potential hurt prevents the hurt from happening. And so you will never know how angry I am at you. You’ll see this tight smile and not the clenched teeth it hides. I can’t spit on you so I won’t.
Published by Jill
Jill spends most of her waking hours attempting to capture the thoughts that scurry around her mind and put them to work entertaining others. You can find these thoughts most often on her blog, Mind of a Mouse, but tiptoe when you enter please, she is easily startled and probably panicking. View all posts by Jill