fool.

We don’t listen to fools. They are ever so wrong about anything. And when we have them for tea it is not to be kind, it is to share in a good laugh once they’ve gone. Foolish people are, after all, so easy to have a laugh about. We hear them, we laugh. We don’t listen.

But the nasty bit is when they see us laugh, when they know we don’t consider them seriously. Dreadful to see their faces as their brains understand—we do not count them as one of us. They are on the silly level, they are a notch below. We hear and hear and hear. But hearing is nothing. When a Queen speaks we listen. For a Queen cannot be a fool. And listening is easily gotten out of us at the word of Queens. But fools, why, we could not listen to them unless we made a great effort. And great efforts are not to be made for fools.

Before you judge us, have a thought for the logic here. It is rarely rewarding to speak intelligently and listeningly to a fool. They talk nonsense and of course they haven’t a thing in common with us—that is the foolish part of them, see. To hear, looking near their faces and nodding, or saying “yes” here and “mhhmm” there, it is a chore! Chore enough for us. They do not appreciate the work we put into it, nor do they say anything worth hearing. So why listen?

If we listened we would have to care. Listening cannot be faked as hearing can. To listen we would have to say, “Forget their oddities and awkwardness, their way of saying things out of place.” Eyes would meet eyes. To listen we would have to accept and appreciate authentically. We would have to want to know. Not pretend to smile at them as they talk too much, so we can impress the people we hope smile at us. Don’t you see the bother of it all?

Before you agree, have another thought. I am more likely wrong about everything than I am right about anything.

And I am a fool. So are you.

We are all a fool to someone.