His face started to turn purple and screwed up into a shriveled raisin. His mouth gaped open, and from the highest frequencies that only a dog can hear, he began to wail. I popped up off the couch. I shouldn've have been so foolish to think that I could sit! To think I would get a few minutes of rest for my aching back. To think I could get away with only an hour and a half of standing! I continued the journey of eternity around the dining room table.

It wasn't so bad as perplexing. How does he know when I'm sitting?! It was late, and I was tired. I had a number of questions for him. What is it, really, about standing anyway? Is it about your elevation, or my comfort? What if I was more comfortable standing? Would you make me sit? What if I had no legs? What if I was a dwarf? Would you make me climb a ladder? What if I sat in a really tall chair, like a bar stool? Would you be content? What if I was a giant, and sitting brought me down to normal-person-standing height? What if I sat on glass? What if I sat in someone's arms who was standing? Would that confuse you?

I had so many questions.

He looked up at me blankly. His face started to crinkle together in that raisin look. His mouth opened up into the silent scream of agony.

I stood up.

[Sigh.]