This morning I was composing a snide response to a comment someone made to me yesterday. The chances of that precise conversation ever coming up again are more remote than a missile from Moscow falling on my house, but I practiced. Just in case.

After dropping my barbed response like a bomb about twenty times in my imagination I noticed that the music playing on the stereo was just ending. I had missed it because of the crossfire running in my head. Instead of enjoying Ennio Morricone's "Gabriel's Oboe" my attention was usurped by a useless diatribe that left me feeling like a hand grenade ready to explode. Not only that, I had completely forgotten about the bowl of fresh blueberries I had set on the table to indulge in. Who needs to worry about Russians when you recruit your own espionage unit between your ears?

The problem with snippy comebacks is they take up room. Room that could otherwise provide space to truly hear what someone else cares about. Or taste blueberries.