As I walked rejoicing in one of spring’s false starts, a squirrel gnawing on none other than an acorn sat stoically upon a rock. Eyes glazed over with fervor for the acorn, the squirrel made no indication of at all noticing me. As a human and a girl, I felt slighted. Am I not at least worthy of a blink?
I halted in front of this frustrating creature and declared to him, "Hello, Sir Squirrel, how is your nut?"
Since he refused to respond or acknowledge my presence, I leaned toward him and asked, "May I try some if it is so good?"
The squirrel spastically leapt from the rock and skittered up a tree.
Offended by his rude behavior, I marched away. During the continuation of my walk, I happened upon another squirrel. She, too, frantically chewed upon an acorn. She, too, had the same bored expression as Sir Squirrel. I assumed that these two squirrels were related.
My interaction with Lady Squirrel mirrored my previous monologue with Sir Squirrel where squirrel mildly freaks out and flees.
Left standing alone, I stared forlornly at a half chewed acorn before I remembered the delightfully warm, sunshine-filled day. After recovering from my emotional scars of being ignored, I chuckled at myself and those poor desensitized squirrels. I think they may have forgotten that we aren't confined to sidewalks.
