Tell Me How You Truly Feel, Gray...

Ophelia: ’Tis brief, my lord.
Hamlet: As woman’s love.

Hamlet, Act III, Scene II
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Departing at 06:30 hrs Saturday morning, I pulled forward and got out of my truck to close the driveway gate. Hello...? Next door, Corky's car is poised for flight a couple seconds ahead of me. On her way past my driveway, she gives me the stinky-finger salute - the commonly accepted gesture of contempt, derision and devaluation.

Flipping the Bird

I am a problem to her? Her thinking is backwards.

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Hamlet: Madam, how like you this play?
Queen: The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

(ibid.)
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This is not the first time Corky has opened her mind to showcase its theatrical nimbleness - and, unfortunately, it's not likely to be her last.

Granted, it has been - and still is - a very long, hard struggle for the BDGs to get their heads screwed on straight under my prodding, especially after they have screwed everyone and everything around them for twenty-three years. (Really, they just screwed themselves.) But, isn't it amazing how the guilty party insists it is *somehow* the other party's problem or fault?

 (c) Lynne Taetzsch 

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets [her] hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
 
Macbeth, Act 5, scene 5
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