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Here is one story retold, albeit with a pithier ending:
What happened: I was on my way to university but, me being a student, I had awoken pretty late and didn't have time to make myself look beautiful or to have breakfast. I made a slight detour on the way to buy a sausage roll. This detour involved walking through the park where i encountered a homeless person sitting on a bench. My hair, not being gelled, was all over the place and when I made eye contact with the tramp he said with a sarcastic slew, "Nice hair mate!"
What I said: I gave him a wry smile and carried on my way.
What I SHOULD have said: "Nice house mate"
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!