I just got some new shoes that have fairly thick soles, and they make me a bit taller than Iâ€™m used to. Iâ€™m an even 6â€™0â€ to begin with so itâ€™s kind of unfamiliar to notice the extra height since Iâ€™m already usually with the taller half of people in a room.
Being a bit taller was an interesting enough shift in perspective that I wondered hypothetically what wearing some serious disco platform boots would be like. That led inevitably to remembering those boots with goldfish in the heels, and I realized maybe for the first time how horrible those things actually were, especially for the goldfish. (Assuming that they were actual, live goldfish at some point.I think they were?)
I mean, imagine that youâ€™re a goldfish. Youâ€™re swimming around in your bowl or tank. Maybe youâ€™re with friends and you spend your days gliding around and enjoying the silent company, or youâ€™re alone in a bowl and enjoy life a life of quiet contemplation.
Then one day, disco shows up.
â€œUh, who is it?â€
And you get scooped up and stuck in transparent-walled solitary for the remainder of your short, horrible life. Each footstep is an assault, and your nights are spent in the triple horror of laser-lightshow dancing, nonstop muffled Bee Gees singles, and the later spectacle of sweaty unshaved cocaine-fueled sexytimes witnessed from the smoky-polyester-clothes-strewn floor, further distorted by the curved lucite walls of the hell youâ€™re stuck in.
Then I realized that nature works kind of the same way. Like springtime where I live, youâ€™ll always get an early taste of nice weather in February.
Natureâ€™s like, â€œHey trees, itâ€™s kind of nice out, why donâ€™t you bloom or something?â€
The trees are like, â€œNaw, I think weâ€™ll just hang out until itâ€™s a little warmer.â€
â€œBut itâ€™s already nice! Itâ€™ll probably be like this for a while.â€
â€œWord? OK, I guess Iâ€™ll bloom then.â€
The trees bloom, and then natureâ€™s like, â€œKnock knock.â€
The trees answer, â€œWhoâ€™s there?â€
Nature goes, â€œNATURE, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!â€ and then stone cold kills all the blossoms with snow or frost, and the trees are like, â€œDude.â€ (But they get fooled every year, so itâ€™s sort of their fault too.)