Adultery Fairy Tale

What does it mean to be an adult? Does it mean working 9 to 5 (or the night shift) just to make ends meet? Does it mean procreating and raising little citizens to carry on the gene pool? Does it mean to trample over people to get where you want to go?

These questions swirl in my mind as I read blogs today. I wonder how many understand the true meaning of being an adult. Of acting adultery. No, I don't mean cheating on your loved one and catching some horrid disease and a case of the guilts. I'm talking about being a grown up. Acting your age. Being bigger than others. Taking the high road. Being kind. Treating others as you want to be treated. Being mindful of the fact that the words on the screen are written by a living, feeling human being behind them. Understanding that you can hurt others with written word and while the onus is not on you to be responsible for how others react it is about being responsible in not treating people as if you're a 2 year old wanting to have a toy and knocking someone to the ground to get it.

Once Upon A Time...in a land far, far away called Wordpress there lived a little blogging princess. Her name was Typaworda and she wanted nothing more than to marry a prince and become a queen over the land. Typaworda worked hard at making sure her hair glistened in the sunlight, her lips mirrored the color of ripened Johnny apples, and made sure the blue in her eyes were so blue a man felt as if he were drowning in an ocean and she was his buoy.

Typaworda tended her word garden daily and pretty soon the others in the kingdom noticed how beautiful her words flourished, how they grew beneath her loving touch, and the admirers oohed and ahhhed over every bloom and said comments to her about how beautiful her garden truly was.

Farther away, in a small town called Hatorade, there lived a few dark creatures who heard of Typaworda and they were angry that she took away the visitors from their own town. They wanted their visitors to return and view their gardens as they once did. But, see, the visitors stopped coming because they grew tired of the Hatorade community growing words with thorns and they became tiresome of their bleeding wounds from visiting. The visitors also noticed that the population of Hatorade rarely had sun shining and the people would not say anything when the visitors commented on the rare beautiful word that bloomed upon their dank soil.

The community of Hatorade decided it was time they told Typaworda what they thought. They began going to her garden and urinating on her word flowers and making them wilt and wither. They would leave hate messages on her garden fence with piles of feces smelling the air with its rancid odor. While Typaworda knew that it was the people of Hatorade doing this she chose to replant her words to bloom again and to ignore their childish behavior and their lashing back at her for her beautiful word garden.

The Hatorade - ites became more angry at her behavior. They began going to other towns and handing out free Hatorade bottles for others to drink and as they did they too began hating Typaworda and they set out to destroy her garden and harm her. Typaworda did not let it phase her. Even as she walked to other towns to visit friends she ignored the billboards that taunted her. She ignored the jeers and sneers of people she passed on the path.

But then...one day...her garden grew no more. She came from her house one morning to find her entire word garden torn away. Dead rodents lay strewn about where once beautiful words had flourished. She sank to the soil and wept tears of anger and sadness.

"Who could hate me so much that they would destroy what I love? Who could be so cruel and mean," she lamented to the heavens. "What can I do to show them that I am doing this because it's what I enjoy and not to take away from them?" No answers were forthcoming from the heavens above. Typaworda cleaned up the mess and went back in to her cottage with her shoulders slumped and her head down.

Long through the night she thought of her problem and wondered what she could do to show others that she meant no harm. How could she lift others spirits and have her word garden flourishing once more. In the wee hours of dawn it finally came to her and she slipped in to a slumber as the solution teased in the dark recesses of her dreams.

Over in Typepad Kingdom there lived a prince named Sir Blogalot. He did nothing all day but write poetry that made the peasants weep and his parents moan in disgust. They wanted their son to be strong to be able to lead the people of Typepad Kingdom but they feared his poetry would make him weak. His father demanded that he find a woman to bring him spawn to one day take over the kingdom but Sir Blogalot knew that he needed a woman that could hold a pen like a mighty sword and who could make words flourish in to something that others would admire. He knew he would not find this person in Typepad Kingdom so he told his father, King Comment, that he would go forth to other lands to find his one true love.

Typaworda was smiling as she woke the next morning to birds singing and the sun shining. She knew that she would need to hurry so that when darkness fell, once more, across the lands she could do what had to be done to bring everyone together. All day she labored and toiled as she put word after word into soil. That night she set out...

Sir Blogalot entered Hatorade just as the sun began going down. He stopped at Dashboard Inn and asked for a room for the night. The innkeeper was aware that the man was royalty so he gave him the best room he could - the Compose Post Suite. Sir Blogalot found the inn to be lacking but he too respite while thinking of a new poem to write so that he could woo the woman of his dreams once he found her.

Typaworda crept through the trees of Delete Forest. The darkness around her was spooky and she jumped at every owl hoot and the scurrying of rodents. She finally made her way to Hatorade and was grateful that the moon was not full. She pulled the pack from her back and began spreading her word flowers everywhere. Red Love blossoms began growing instanly, Blue Replies burst forth in the grown. Rainbows of words fell across the land of Hatorade and when morning came Typaworda was found laying in a garden sleeping.

"Who is this?" Editor, the mayor of Hatorade, asked.

"It is that twit from Wordpress your honor," replied the peasant, Preview.

Editor hated Typaworda and was the man behind the attacks on her gardens. He instantly called out the Label Guard and demanded they throw her in the jail. He wrote a decree that her head would be taken off at exactly High Noon.

Sir Blogalot was drawn from his sleep by the commotion outside his Compose Post Suite. He opened the drapery and as he looked out the word flowers caught his eye. Everywhere he looked beautiful blooms of words greeted him. Then he saw men dragging a beautiful lady to a stockage in the center of Hatorade. He rushed to dress and ran out of the inn to ask what was going on.

"This woman," said Mayor Editor, "is to have her head taken off at high noon for desecrating our lands. She has been a frenemy of our lands for months and today we stop her. She uses her flower words to draw our citizens from our land to hers and we are angry. We can't stand her! She thinks she is the best word gardener in all the lands and today we will teach her it is not true!"

This drew a gasp of outrage from Sir Blogalot and he demanded that they release her at once. Mayor Editor knew that if he did not do as commanded that it would be he that would lose his head.

Typaworda could not believe everything that was happening. She stood confused and awed by the man before her. She did not know him but she wanted to. She spoke in a soft and eloquent voice.

"I do not wish harm to befall the good people of Hatorade. For some reason they believe that I am out to draw away their citizens and that is not my goal. I wish to share my beautiful words with them and have them share theirs with me. I want everyone to go forth and plant beautiful words everywhere so that people can enjoy them and use them to add fragrance and color to their lives. I apologize if others feel that I had ulterior motives for my gardening but I assure you it was not."

"Rubbish," spluttered Mayor Editor, "you are an evil wench set out to hog all of our citizens. You never visit Hatorade and when you chose to you did it under the cloak of darkness. You planted your words here only to show you are better than we."

"Silence!" commanded Sir Blogalot. His eyes swept over the community and his ire was felt by all. Sir Blogalot did not and could not understand what was going on but he knew that he had to protect this young maiden for only she could be his mate. Only she could hold the pen as a mighty sword. He felt his loins grow heavy as he thought of the words they could create together. And then, in that moment of lust, an idea hit him so brilliantly that he knew this was the answer to all.

"My fair citizens of the land; I decree that everyone will grow word flowers together. We will, as a whole community, bring forth words so that we all may bring joyous color and literary art to everyone in need. There is not one word gardener better than another. We are all unique and special and there is plenty of room in this kingdom for all."

Silence was loud in the land as his speech fell upon their ears. Smiles gradually grew on their faces and then applause and shouts erupted. Sir Blogalot knew then that he had solved the problems. But, he also knew, that somewhere there would always be someone who felt their word garden was more deserving than others. He could not be responsible for everyone but he could start with the community before him and work as hard as he could for peace and unity throughout the lands.

Sir Blogalot and Typaworda were married in a fortnight and King Comment gave the crown to his son. Sir Blogalot and Typaworda decided to rename the kingdom Blogging Kingdom and declared that anyone feeling unworthy, ignored, and unused to put forth their name and a resolution would be sought.

And they lived happily ever after...

Not everything is as simple as the fairy tale. But what is simple and easy to do is not to comment in a nasty/hateful manner. It is simple not to stoop so low as to have others looking twice at you and wondering if you are who they think you are.

Am I guilty of being an asshole? You betcha. Am I guilty of being ignorant and reacting wrongly? You betcha. Have I targeted someone online out of anger/spite? You betcha. I didn't go so far as to contact them physically or wish harm to befall them but my anger was palpable and they knew it. Do I regret? Yes. It is a place I never want to visit again. The land of Hatorade sucks. It's ugly. It's mean. It's cruel. I don't want to be like that.

I don't expect every person who visits this place to get me, understand me, or like me. If it makes someone stop and think then that's good. I don't need hundreds of visitors or commentors on my site to make me feel good about my writing. (Although that is a bonus and I won't turn it away. *wink*) If someone doesn't like me then I'd just hope they would click that big red X up in the corner and hightail it on out of here and choose not to visit again. But...alas, there will always be that one person who must be the asshole of the group and target certain people for whatever reason and go around commenting on the person they hate's blog and be a big ol' jerk. S/He will do nothing more than to be the boil on the ass of humanity and be the mosquito that constantly swoops and swirls just to bite your skin. Those sorts are best ignored and let to spread their vile as they wish and just delete their comments as they post them.

It's better to be the bigger ADULT than the bigger ASSHOLE. The End.