there is apparently a fine line between sarcasm and sass. i apparently live on this fine line (FineLineOline).
my vinegar, who has a tenuous grasp on the concept of sarcasm, automatically responds to 2/3rds of what i say with what a sass! wait 'till you get a husband! he has said this for three years and it's maddening for many reasons, chief among them that i have never known what it means. is a husband the most proper target for sass? is a husband going to restrict or return the sass? will i never find a husband because of the sass? or will i find one and drive him away with the sass? if i don't ever find a husband, will i die from unexpressed or inappropriately channeled sass? it's mystifying.
croftie and i are in a field of complicated communicators. and those complicated communicators, ironically all in the field of communication, are preoccupied with sass. the other day, croftie was instructed, in a professional setting, to find her "sassie voice." so clearly sass is of some import. clearly, we are not to altogether abandon the sass. but oh the mixed messages!
tonight, croftie and i bravely endured the media event, which we swore on anne shirley that we would finally attend. tonight, we spent a courageous hour small-talking with girls who turned out to be from croftie's own company. tonight, we encountered skeezy writerly guys who stared drunkenly at the nametags upon our bosoms and uttered the phrase jack black's body as though it were erotic verse. tonight, after all that, croftie and i unloosed the sass. in the street. loudly. with dramatic pauses. featuring jazz hands. for ten blocks. and it felt damn good.
and the thing is, i'm not sassy. not really. not much. for serious.