The Emissary

Once, while at a party, I felt myself the unspoken target of a hate vibe. It was an all ages affair, with children and adults milling about in a casual milieu of chips, champagne and birthday cake. The topics of conversation were mostly banal and gossipy, a buffet of who said what about whom type of fare. Many sideways glances were being cast in my direction, although I didn't perceive it right away. That is, until the group conspired as one to send an emissary to deliver the message to me directly.

"You're a stinking, filthy piece of shit!" 

The words came from the unlikely lips of a toddler, a button-eyed Shirley Temple doll of a girl who seemed barely of speaking age. The vitriol issuing forth from this vision of cuteness was incongruous with the look of innocence on her face. She seemed genuinely proud to have spoken all those words at once, gazing up at me expectantly, as if I were about to reward her with a cookie for her accomplishment.

Instead, I chided her gently, saying something the effect that people shouldn't ought to be using infants to do their dirty work, and I set off to find the people responsible for this atrocious act. Her parents weren't far away, and I quickly walked over to inform them about their daughter's words to me.

"I think you should know what kinds of things your child is saying," I said and relayed the message to the poker faced couple. "Obviously," I concluded, "someone has put her up this as a gag. She is too young to even understand the meaning of her words." 

They gathered up the little girl and reprimanded her harshly, eliciting tears from the unwitting child. I now wished I hadn't mentioned it, as the collateral damage far exceeded that of the original insult. Snickers and tisks were the prevailing review from the peanut gallery, and it became apparent that the entire party was in on the joke. 

I don't recall an ending, only that I was glad that there was one.