The smallest things tend to offend me. Just last week, someone I respect replied to my heartfelt text with a single word: sure. Ouch. My imagination took it from there.
But my imagination is a terrible mind reader…
Cut me off in traffic?
You’re inconsiderate.
Interrupted me mid-sentence?
You don’t respect me.
Disagreed with my politics?
You must be a self-righteous prick.
Thankfully, I’ve learned not to trust my own indignation.
Truth be told, I wasn’t offended by you.
I was offended by the story I invented about you.
You don’t have the power to provoke me
unless I hand you the keys to my heart.
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