On the Matter of Idiots

Omar looked up at his friend with an exasperated expression.

“Come down from there, you fool!” he called, “You’ll kill yourself like that, I reckon!”

“Hush up, you!” called his friend, who sat in the tree chopping branches for some new project.  He was always making up some new project or another. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself!  I’m not an idiot, you know!”

Omar squinted, and took another look at his friend.  No, he was not seeing things.  Boyer was cutting branches down from a tree, whilst sitting upon the branches he was cutting down.  He groaned. “Look down, Boyer, please, before you kill yourself!”

“No, Omar!  Stop being such a bother, you oaf.  Lord!”

Omar heaved a long, painful sigh.  He was obliged to admit to himself that there was very little that he could do to make Boyer see his own stupidity, at least at that moment.  He turned on his heel, and went back into the house, resolving to find the old air-mattress down there, hopefully before Boyer needed it.

“Okay, okay, I give,” he said, nursing scraped and bruised tender spots on his back, legs, arms… Well, everywhere really.  “I’m an idiot.  I’m a complete and total idiot.”

“It’s fine, Boyer,” Omar said, as he poured him a cup of tea in the kitchenette. “Just don’t be so thickheaded next time.” he brought the tea over, sweetened with honey. “Even the best of us can be idiots sometimes.”

Boyer smiled, despite the pain. “Yeah, yeah.  Sorry.  I’m such a bother.”

“No you’re not, Boyer.  Now drink your tea.”

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