The Swift Hand of Injustice

I bought a pair of mitts today. Mainly because I heard it might snow by the end of the week. I like them-- they have little tips on the thumbs that fold back so you can text with them on and everything-- but I'll be returning them tomorrow.

You see, I discovered when I got home that the lining on the inside of one of them wasn't properly sewn on, and as a result, it bunches up when I put my hand in there.

Now, this strikes me as sort of a tragic thing. Here we have a pair of mitts, one perfect in its purpose, and its counterpart, marred and hopeless. In this age of disposability, there's no chance the store will take the bad mitt in and fix it. They'll just toss it. That's life, I guess… there's no room for the weak in this world, right?

But what about the other mitt?

For no fault of its own, that perfect mitt has been given a life sentence in a landfill. It'll never keep a hand warm. It'll never enjoy that simple pleasure derived from just doing its job.

It is saddening. Tragic? Maybe I've convinced you so.

Maybe I will wear the mitts on my way to the mall tomorrow so the good one can experience a taste of life before its flame is extinguished. Or would that be cruel on my part?

Yes, ignorance is bliss. Better to not let it know what it will be losing forever.