I am no herder, and if I am then I am also quite sure that I would be ridiculed if by some bittersweet chance I met a person of the aforementioned profession.
I haven’t checked my mail lately but I am certain that there is no invitation to the Herders Industry Conference and definitely no table reserved if I am.…which I’m not.
No. It is far more likely that I am another sheep born from another sheep and as such made of an ‘exponentiated’ amount of ‘sheepiness’ from the very first sheep ever to munch upon the green grass of a sheep’s Garden of Eden.
“Oh but there is such opportunity for a sheep your age!”
“You may even become king one day!”
But I would remain a sheep no matter how kingly my fleece.
And who would ask to be the kingly representative of a herd content with the grass clippings of betters.
No, much better to be the lonely sheep at the edge of the flock asking why.
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