I encountered a young lady a while ago, young lady I can reasonably conclude is somewhere in her early twenties.
Obviously intelligent, incredibly well spoken, amazingly insightful …
and, yes now that I think further of it,
most assuredly in the outlying regions of the sinkhole, being drawn into the central realm only to be sucked into the vortex at thirty a little too quickly for her own comfort.
From all outward appearances and behaviors, she takes herself way too seriously. It approaches reverence.
That supposition would make for a safe bet.
The operative phrase necessary to fully contemplate the depth of those gifts graciously given to her – to qualify if not able to quantify them – would be “in her early twenties”.
In saying that, I don’t mean to denigrate nor to mock her or anyone suffering that rambunctious rite of passage.
The human brain is just not capable of grasping certain concepts or process sundry precepts until the age of twenty-five. The brain is just not fully developed until then, and at one point or another during that growth period it is unavoidable that one will eventually step in a pile of dog shit.
Far be it from me to insinuate that it was anything less than a common occurrence within my experiences,
and I pity the fool who in their pomposity either forgets or denies it within theirs.
And I pray for the child who can’t accept that inevitability and their concurrent fallibility.
Who am I to judge if they’re still scraping the shit off their boots?
Everybody steps in it once in a while.
I can’t, however, recall ever having seen a dog step in its own shit while people seem to do exactly that all the time.
J. K. R. Nash IV