Funny how variable the texture of my ego-skin is. If my husband tells me my pants look terrible, I whimper like a little girl. If someone criticizes my writing, I acknowledge that criticism frankly. Say, hmmm, you have a point there, that does need work--needs to be changed--whatever. I use it, work with it, move on.
But I'm straying from the point here. There are very few of the drabbles that leave me indifferent. And those that do just lack in skill, not intent.
Was going to say more...but once again, it's late.
Leni, I owe you a pimp. Forgive me?
And I'll have to read willa_writes's Sonnet#6 drabble tomorrow.