“Can I ask you something?”
Sure, Iggy, go ahead.
“Do you suppose dung beetles feel pride?”
“You know, like, do they get a huge bit of dung, roll it to wherever they bring it, and go, ‘Look at this killer hunk of dung I found all by myself, damn, I’m a kick-ass dung beetle’?”
I’ve never thought about–
“And what if they find a really huge hunk of dung, how do they get it back to wherever they bring it? Do they climb up and walk backwards on top of it to roll it, like a circus act?”
“Do they even have dung beetles in the circus?”
Iggy, I have no idea.
“I mean, are there little kids at the circus going, ‘Ooh, Mommy, look, dung beetles’? Are they waving flags with dung beetles on them? Wearing little hats they bought at the souvenir stand that have antennae sticking out the top and and dung beetle eyes on the front? ‘Look, Mommy, I’m a dung beetle’?”
I have no clue, Iggy.
“Neither do I. I’ve never been to the circus.”
How does this even occur to you?
“I’m going mad. Lemme out.”
“Okay. How about now?”
No. Sorry, Iggy, you still can’t come out.
“Okay, what about now?”
No, Iggy. One more day.