Day 97: Small and Close

In the supermarket, with sounds of frustration coming from a child sat in the dangly-leg cage of a trolley.  His mother is ignoring his cries, and serenely gliding along the aisles.  As I get closer I hear the detail of his issue.  'I want to be SMALL!  I want to be SMALL!  I want to be SMALL!'  I am intrigued.  From my perspective, he IS small.  How small does he want?  I'd really like to ask him, because I suspect that would stop the whinging in its tracks.  'Exactly how small?  Like a potato or a pea?  Be specific.' 

As I am walking home, a man hails me from  across the road.  He has a slightly vacant expression, a large placid face, and a too-small cap balanced rakishly on the side of his head, like a fascinator.  He wants to know where he can find the nearest post box.  I tell him - it's a matter of 200 metres away.  'Oh,' he says, looking taken aback, 'that's quite a way...'  WHAT?  No, it isn't.  Not from my perspective.  It's very close.  Metres, not leagues.  But for him, this is obviously bad news.  How close does he want?  Any closer and he'd practically be able to touch it. 

I don't know where I'm going with this (not to the post box, obviously - way too far).  Different perspectives, man.  My small is not yours.  Neither is my close. 

Sometimes I feel small.  Sometimes I feel insular.  But today, as far as two people are concerned, I am big and wide-ranging.  Call me Strider.