There comes a time when a person must have a talk with her elbows.

“I prop myself up on you all the time,” she admits, “I clumsily knock you against things, I hardly ever moisturize, and I imagine that sometimes you must feel totally trapped between the shoulder and forearm. You’re always there to support me. What can I give you in return?”

The elbows pause for a moment, then say in soft voices: “It must be nice to have elbows,” they say, “we’d like some elbows of our own.”

So she gets some elbows for her elbows and thanks her elbows for being elbows and props herself up on her elbows which prop themselves on their elbows and they all read children’s books on the floor, thanks to elbows.

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