“How was your Friday, Wolf?”

“Frantic, frazzling, and fatiguing.  This old chicken butt faced the unending issues, with fortitude and determination, limping out the door at 5pm, with her tail barely wagging.”

“Since when does a chicken have a tail?”

“All chickens have tails, hidden under all those feathers.  Haven’t you ever plucked a chicken?”

“Oh for crazy.  Of course not.”

“Well, I was plucked today, and my tail is now exposed.  When I walked into the pub tonight, I tried to hide my tail, but it went wild and everyone saw it.  Do you know what it’s like to be the laughing stock of the local pub?  I had to order doubles, to get slightly tipsy, so I could walk out, oblivious to the stares of the patrons.  I was a few feet from the door, when a little kid had the nerve to say, ‘Hey, Mommy, look!  There’s that goofy lady with the tail.”

“Oh for ridiculous!”

“And Mommy said, ‘That’s  just a bar fly, honey, trying to get attention.  How many times have I told you about the dangers of drinking?  She has developed an appendix, strictly related to excessive, wild living.  Now she has to live with the consequences.  Can you imagine trying to put on a pair of jeans with a tail?'”

“Geez, Wolf, what the heck are you going to do tomorrow, when you go shopping, with a tail?”

“I have jeans with a hole in the hind end.  So what’s the big deal?”

“It sounds to me like you have accepted your abnormality. Very admirable, I must say.”

“We all have our quirks, Minnie.  No one is perfect.  So what if I have a tail?  When the day is done, and I have done my best, do I dwell on my tail? Or my accomplishments?  Do I wish I didn’t have a tail?  Will it stop me from being the best I can be?  Or will I dwell on that tail and give up?”

“But nobody else has a tail.”

“We all have tails, Minnie.  Believe me, we all do.”




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