Monday, July 20, 2009

"We Don't Talk..." - Lynda's Nonverbal Style

Yesterday was another beautiful Sunday morning. Hmm... Four weeks ago Lynda and Corky disrupted what I had hoped to be a quiet breakfast out front... Two weeks ago Lynda and Corky again disrupted my breakfast. What do you think are the odds they will disrupt breakfast this week?

If you guessed 100%, you are right.

Gail, the woman who obtained Corky's dog two weeks ago, came walking down the sidewalk with the dog. When she approached my yard I hailed her with, "Is that Cody?" and she responded with a Yes. We introduced ourselves (since my socialite neighbor hadn't introduced us two weeks ago) and we talked about the dog and the fig tree we were standing next to. It was a quick and friendly exchange.

Cody, however, nearly pulled Gail over by suddenly lunging against his lease and pulling her back up the sidewalk toward Lynda's house. Our conversation ended abruptly because sad, lonely Lynda had come out onto her front lawn and called Cody over. The Dr. Phil wannabe, who two weeks ago tried to belittle me for having no friends, saw me out front and deliberately sabotagued an interpersonal relationship at the moment of conception. She, of course, will claim she only wanted to follow up with the dog and his new owner, but her (lack of) social skills belie the claim.

Another friend of mine walked by a minute later, stopped for a half-minute exchange of pleasantries, then continued on past the koffee klatch next door.

The next puzzle for the practiced manipulator was, "How do I prevent this woman from talking to that evil man over there as she passes by him again?" Pretty obvious, huh? Lynda escorted Gail and Cody almost to the fig tree. Lynda then led Gail in turning away into the stance that says, "I need to tell you something important and confidential." For a few intense seconds, Lynda bent Gail's ear so badly I'm surprised it stayed attached, then they parted and went opposite directions. My unpleasantly gained experience with Lynda's verbal style made me feel truly sorry for this poor woman. Gail glanced furtively at me as she hurried by, her ears dripping and her brain stunned from their force-fed injection of virulent speech. There was no way Gail could absorb the viperous poison just delivered and speak with me seconds later, so I let her go without word or gesture. She was innocent of a larger conflict not her own, and to be abused in such a despicable manner by a truly awful excuse for a human being is demonic.

I saw Gail again this morning on her walk. She appeared to have pulled through her near-death experience and we spoke briefly. (Because Lynda is taking notes, nothing was mentioned about my NFH's.) You see, not everyone I meet for the first time has to receive a catering truck load of s - -t.

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