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Just A Little Nothing Something
It was over coffee, at a neighborhood cafe, that I first learned the benefits of being thick-skinned.
I had just done a poetry reading for the Daughters of the American Revolution. Some club my aunt was trying to join. I’d read something about capitalism and Guatemala with a slight mention of the Spanish Civil War.
Out of all the poems I’d written and read, this was some, really, little nothing political poem. But, suddenly, I was ushered out of the reading room and told I’d not be invited there again.
I sobbed over and into my coffee. “I’m ruined now ,” I wailed to my friend.
“Really, Alice,” she replied, “you’ll have to have a thicker skin than this unless you want to end up like a skeleton.”