Seems like they occur much too often. There are grating ones, the kind that not only stab you but twist the knife or put their thumbs in the wounds. Then there are the ones that don’t hurt as much because you already saw them coming from about twelve miles off. There are big, juicy ones like wet snowflakes that fall in successive waves over a crowd of onlookers, sure to humiliate you. Then there are the little ones, that might budge with a little persuasion. There are spiteful ones. Vengeful ones. Those betrayals that we couldn’t have seen with x-ray vision. There are the hushed whispers, more painful than ones shouted in faces. Those spoken in fear. Out of anger. Out of frustration. And those handed out at the end of one’s rope, spoken through clenched teeth demanding its own space or justice. There are no’s some days, but not a single one gets by where it doesn’t belong — whenever there comes a “yes.” And in my experience, dearies, no’s are a certainty, but yes’s are inevitable. Eventually.