Broken Toes
“Has a car ever run over your foot?”
“Yes,” I said. “Terrible. Very, very painful.”
“Have you ever allowed a car to run over your foot?” he asked.
“Voluntarily? Wilfull? No,” I said. “Have you?”
Yes,” he said. “Many times. I’ve come to enjoy it.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Knowing what it’s like to have a car run over you foot, you wouldn’t do it again?”
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
I looked at him solemnly.
“Does this question really need answering?” I asked.
“What’s the matter? You too much of a smarty pants to answer? You too good to answer?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Just seems to me nothing I say will make any difference to a fella that lets cars run over his feet.”
“What are you saying? I’m stupid?”
“Well, I can’t say I understand it.”
“Other people let cars run over their feet too,” he said. “I’m not the only one.”
“Does that somehow make it feel better?”
“Of course,” he said.
I thought about that.
I said I was sorry.
He asked, “Sorry for what?”
“Maybe I should have given you an explanation why I won’t allow a car to run over my foot again.”
“Why would you explain it now?”
“Cause as much as I couldn’t imagine you might explain it in a way that makes sense…….well, now I think I understand.”
“Good. So you’re ready to let a car run over your foot again?” he asked.
“No, but thank you,” I said. “I think I’ll still pass.”
mrobins71 