The Slap

After what seemed like the full-on advent of Spring we here in the Northeast were slapped hard by the return of frosty air and wind filled with snow. It was hard to take for sure when it hit us squarely across bared faces. I know I should have not fallen for the tease of ease, but I did, rather like an amateur in this region might have made. Quite similarly, I was swept up in the fanfare and glitter on Oscar night, the easy banter of those witty hosts, the hope that this year a more diverse and promising bank of recipients might hold their trophies high over head in pride. And they did. All of that. But the sting of that slap, that one violent recrimination captured by the ever present Eye, stings just as bad as the Arctic blast battering us back inside our homes. Back to wonder, how did we become a nation where shame is no longer felt when it is clearly earned?

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