I spend a fair bit of my time contemplating the evils of our world. A man can be raped with a crowbar, infected with parasites, waterboarded with faeces, blinded by gourging, disemboweled by hungry rats trapped under a bucket, joints removed with pliers, castrated by fishing hooks, weakened by hallucinogens, lobotomised, enfeebled in a thousand ways.

But most people don't worry too much about that. They worry about making books balance, and having a family to lean on, and the colour of their salmon, about staying in the right side of municipal legislations (myriad), and about whether others think about them... about their clothes, and hair, and relationships.

And I consider the weight I put on these categories of consideration. And I find that the latter offer the least value in the currency of gravitas.

That is all alright, and simply the lot in life of a considerate and educated person. Sometimes however, someone comes along and picks upon a point of recent conversations saying, "you are patronising," and I stand struck, blinking wildly, wondering which aspect of my world unmentioned has antagonised theirs. How can I know what, of all the things we do not speak of, has leaked out of character, and betrayed my innocence of social civility? I do not often have time to guess, before hazarding a rushed apology, wrapping myself in avoidance, and the solitude of silent contemplation.

Forgive me.

Polite way of saying " there must be a billion things you don't understand - which one is making you feel inadequate right now!?"

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