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Here is one story retold, albeit with a pithier ending:
It was your mom?
What happened: Ok, so during my first year of middle school thier was this girl I liked, we'll just call her "Annie". Anyways I hung around with her for awhile and heard through the gossip crowd that she liked me.
It was my first time asking anyone out so I was a bit tentative.
So I ask her out and she says:
"Yeah, I was really hoping you would ask!"
The next day she comes up and says to me:
"I told my Mom I was going out with you and she doesn't like that. We can still hang out and stuff"
What I said: *Obvlivious* "Ok, cool wanna go swimming afterschool?" (I kept on trying to hang out with her for a month or so after that before I clued in)
What I SHOULD have said: "Ok, I have to go..."
The French call it l'esprit d'escalier, "the wit of the staircase," those biting ripostes that are thought of just seconds too late, on the way out of the room-or even, to tell the truth, days later. It's happened to you: you've suddenly thought of just what would put your foe in his or her place, but past the time when the arrow could sting its victim. You've stewed in your own juice ever since, and the chance for singeing repartee is gone forever.
Or is it?
Dorothy Parker or Oscar Wilde may have had the rapier wit to tweak their tormentors on the spot, but for the rest of us, we offer the Internet's only L'esprit d'escalier web site!