A Lesson in Manners from a One-Horned Minotaur

February 24, 2010

Most people want to know how I lost it.

Some assume it just came off like an antler on an elk or a moose.

Bulls don’t shed their horns, so when people mention this they just sound ignorant. I’m not judging. Ignorance, by definition, is a lack of knowledge or understanding.

Others ask me if “something happened,” by which they mean something violent.

Did someone hurt me?

Was it taken against my will and so on?

Often people asking the question simply lack tact in both the tone and phrasing.

Perhaps the most appropriate way to learn the story of my missing horn is to befriend me in an honest way, allowing for an organic meeting of the minds and such.

Then, after we have build up a repoire-forged a sincere relationship, so to speak-then asking me about what happened to my horn would be so much more polite.

At that point if we had real chemistry and I cared for you platonically, then I would tell you that, yes, I was accosted by a goddess who will, for obvious reasons, go unnamed.

We had a small dispute about the tidiness of my maze, a maze I have inhabited (and kept nearly spotless) for millennia.

Tempers rose. I said something I regret, and she took a horn.

Yes, it was painful-how could it not be.

Yes, it could have been much worse. I am grateful she showed me mercy, regardless of our differing opinions.

Still, not a day goes by that I don’t miss it. Especially when I’m charging at someone.


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