I was thinking of the immortal words of Socrates when he said "I drank what?"
Jones had had enough. "Actually, he said that he owed a rooster to Asclepius, the Greek god of healing, and asked his friend to pay the debt. He knew damn well he was drinking hemlock and chugged it like it was cheap beer."
The rest of the meeting stared at her.
"I’m tired of historically inaccurate jokes, okay? Socrates was a bad-ass and nobody should forget it."
The uncomfortable silence stretched. Filled only by awkward shuffling and the occasional cough.
"Er. Yes. Thank you, Margret."
"His exact last words could make an okay dick joke," she offered.
"Thank you, Margret," said Evans in the tones of you-can-stop-talking-now. "We’ve proved that history only repeats if you fail it. Moving on…" The meeting returned to the everyday humdrum. Broken only by the odd peculiar look in her direction.
She never meant to have hidden talents. It was just that nobody asked about them.
great post , thank you so much
follwing you
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