Now and then, I see someone lament that social media lacks a “sarcasm font”.  I’ve probably bemoaned this oversight a time or two myself.  Several weeks ago, a neighbor told me that she defaults to sarcasm.  I studied her face for a long moment before tendering the only reply that seemed appropriate:  “Good to know.”

My friend Katrina once disclosed that she never uses sarcasm.  Her parents had apparently been Quaker; they taught her not to be sarcastic.  Perhaps it came down as an unspoken rule by virtue of example.  Whether she has continued to withstand the onslaught of negativity and hold fast to her commitment, I cannot say.  I wouldn’t blame her if she gave way to the occasional disgusted eye roll in the face of current events.

On Wednesday, I asked a young friend how the first day of classes had gone.  She shrugged; I understood this to be code for “ask me more, I’ll tell you about my awful experience”.  I contemplated leaving the subject, but relented.  I got five  minutes of sarcastic criticism of the professor for my trouble.  I listened with as much patience as I could muster.

Finally I moved away, leaving her standing with a slight lingering frown. I realized that perhaps social media deliberately avoided including a “sarcastic font”.  People seem to find their own way of expressing their disgruntled feelings of rank superiority to the rest of us.  I’m beginning to think Katrina’s parents had the right idea.

As for myself, I have a tiny house to clean.  A pile of mostly junk mail from Missouri requires sorting.  The recycle box must be taken to be emptied, and I want to shoot a few pictures of the marina.  But first, breakfast; the New York Times; and a fresh pot of coffee.

It’s the thirty-first day of the fifty-sixth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.