Do I Look Older?
“How old are you?” asked a little girl with a head the size of a small
watermelon. “Oh, now that’s not a polite thing to ask, little girl.
Why don’t you ask me how I know so much about landscaping or
tell me how old you are?” She looked pained by having the question
unanswered. You could see the impression making it’s way, slow but
definite, from her flushed ears and pouting expression. Data was
transfered in the quiet interlude. Of course, it was always landscaping
or football or an ailment of some kind, what else would one talk about?
Would someone actually talk about their age? What an embarrassing
thing! It could be equated to talking about one’s ethnicity or sex or
political stance or spirituality- things you never talk about. That’s the
problem with youth. All the unanswered questions consequent to the
failure of deducing these traits which should never breach the surface
of civilized conversation. What do they teach in schools? Garbage.
No manners, no tact, no useful banter. Just twaddle. “But I can’t tell
how old you are. You’re too ugly for me to figure it out on my own,”