"I am staring it the face. The F Word. It is looking at me, daring me, even to respond to it. It wants to know what I am going to do. Will I cower just like in times past? I can see a smirk curl the sides of its mouth as it figures it has already won. Like a bully on the playground, it thinks it has me beat. "Any minute now", it thinks, "she is going to run away defeated."
It is a scene from those Western movies my grandmother loved to watch.
I am facing my opponent, at high noon, in the dusty streets with sun blaring down on us both. We expect each other to reach for our guns and draw.Then I do something that completely wipes the smug little grin from its face.
I pick up my opponent and embrace it!"
The "f" word personified here is...
