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Here is one story retold, albeit with a pithier ending:
Sorry, Wrong Number!
What happened: My phone rang at 2:00 a.m. waking me up. The caller screamed at me, "Why the f--k is your f---ing number in my husband's f---ing wallet? How long you been f---ing him?" Figuring she had misdialed and not wanting to hear some stranger's filthy rantings, I hung up. The phone rang again ten minutes later with more filthy language and more screaming about why my number was in her husband's wallet.
What I said: "Ma'am you have the wrong number. Check it before waking me up again."
What I SHOULD have said: He probably has my number because we've been having red hot sex for over a year, and he's going to marry me and be a real father to our baby once he's free of you!"
The French call it l'esprit d'escalier, "the wit of the staircase," those biting ripostes that are thought of just seconds too late, on the way out of the room-or even, to tell the truth, days later. It's happened to you: you've suddenly thought of just what would put your foe in his or her place, but past the time when the arrow could sting its victim. You've stewed in your own juice ever since, and the chance for singeing repartee is gone forever.
Or is it?
Dorothy Parker or Oscar Wilde may have had the rapier wit to tweak their tormentors on the spot, but for the rest of us, we offer the Internet's only L'esprit d'escalier web site!