Working Up

by Dwayne Phillips

According to some arbitrary scheme, we are in the year two thousand and twenty. Let’s let it be.

My eight year old granddaughter told me that it was the year 20 20, “the year of perfect vision.” I can live with that as she is eight years old and was born with cataracts. She had two eye surgeries on each eye and knows more about those 20-whatever measures than me.

The rest of the adults writing out there have no excuse.

We have been in the year two thousand twenty for about four weeks now. Let us quit all the twenty twenty puns and such. Enough already. Surely there is something else to write.

Thank you.