January 15, 2013 by first50
Her response was predictable. “So?”
It was somewhat preferable to her other favorite, “Whatev.”
Yes, I liked “So?” better because it ended with a question mark and gave me permission to go on and try to penetrate her teen aged brain with my superior motherly wisdom.
It didn’t always work, until . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “so?”
 | Edwin Jeter on Fair |
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| Edwin Jeter on The Question |
| Edwin Jeter on The Answer |
 | mercyn620 on The Answer |
 | SrChuchy on Songs of youth |
 | F. Eugene Barber on Rinse |
 | lovethatgray on The Question |
| C D Conner Sr. on About |
| C D Conner Sr. on The Question |
 | cinanim on Oh, the irony |
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Poppy ran to the top of the landing, anxiety and hope crisscrossing all over her face. This was the moment, the time, the place perfect….She smoothed her fine dark hair out of her face and looked intently at the front door. “Come in” she yelled. wiling it all to open with all her heart. The delivery boy looked up the stairs at poppy and with a sly grin held out the package…”So?”
Her students’ term papers were depressing. Skimming paragraph after paragraph, a fine-tip red pen perched between her thumb and index finger, she sighed as she slashed a dark, inky line through each error. “They can’t spell, they don’t use the right punctuation marks and nothing is spaced properly,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “It’s like I’ve taught them nothing.”
“Honey, look at the title of this one.” She slid one of the papers across the coffee table to her husband. “‘Do You Like to So?’ Can you believe that that’s how an eighth-grade student believes the word “sew” is spelled?”
So, you know or should know what’s going to happen if you don’t. It won’t be good, at least not for Rob and me. We’ve got plans…
So, he said again.
Don’t even talk to me, if you’re going to be like that.
We’ve all got things to share, we’re just asking you to share what you have plenty of. We wouldn’t ask you to share something scarce or precious to you. We are what should be precious to you. You know someday you’ll be sorry about your attitude.
So?
You want us to leave like this?
“So, why haven’t we met before?” asked the man on the barstool next to mine.
“I’m surprised you don’t remember me.You’ve been in prison for the last ten years.” I spun like a top on my barstool and walked into the night,
hand gripping my pearl-handled 38.
So-so. That’s how she always feels. No real lows, no real highs. I used to feel sorry for her. To never know how low you could sink or how how you could rise seemed like a wasted life. However, I began to see her point after realizing that the higher the mountain, the further the fall. She had been up so far and down so often that the destination wasn’t worth the trip.
I don’t know much about the medical field, so I let my wife have it. I didn’t plan to have this kind of life I have, so I guess I’ll shut up and die anyway. I’m tired of watching others on tv making money, so I guess I’ll stay off the couch. I weigh it down anyway, so I guess I’ll keep the pillows straight.
“You can’t fire me! Please, I have a family and we moved here for this job,” Romelle pleaded.
“So?” was the cold reply from the matronly woman in a pink suit that was just a bit too tight.
Romelle tried to push the image from his mind of pink sausages bursting from their casings.