The day they gave us legs was the day we danced. The leader who held a mirror up to the world kicked his feet in the air. "Legs," he shouted. "Legs," we echoed, pirouetting. We donned our headsets with newfound zeal, eager to try on new pairs of pants, tie our shoes, paint our toenails. We sat in bleachers at sports games, auditorium seats at lectures, collapsible cinema recliners at movie theaters, Herman-Miller-branded (-sponsored?) executive chairs at meetings. Neil deGrasse Tyson gave us a tour of the sky. We walked barefoot everywhere, elated. Never mind the fact that some of us didn't have legs in the old world and would have been fine if there had just been more ramps. "Legs," we traipsed. "Legs," we lunged.
The machine won't let me click the heart ideograph without asking me to subscribe, and when I subscribe, it won't let me click the heart ideograph without asking to subscribe, so instead I am typing a comment to say that I appreciate this post, because it expresses my exact feelings on this matter. Thank you. And now I shall click on the little green "Post" button and see if it asks me to subscribe . . .
The machine won't let me click the heart ideograph without asking me to subscribe, and when I subscribe, it won't let me click the heart ideograph without asking to subscribe, so instead I am typing a comment to say that I appreciate this post, because it expresses my exact feelings on this matter. Thank you. And now I shall click on the little green "Post" button and see if it asks me to subscribe . . .
Oof this one hit me. Loving the form of this sort of sci fi short story.