The goose babies have reached adolescence.

They're hungry all the time, have huge, oversized feet, and adult heads perched atop grey downy baby bodies. At least, the more advanced ones do. These are the ones that get all the dates in the pond...the ones who can have perfectly normal conversations with adults, and exude a confidence well beyond their years. The ones who are already getting laid, have tried drugs and binge drinking, and still look hot the next morning in time for Algebra.

Then, there are the geese who haven't quite made it yet...they're all messy feathers, downy and adult mixing bizarrely and sticking out in random tufts. These are the geese that are in the band, chess and drama clubs, and have a vocabulary that is well advanced beyond their years due to a voracious reading habit (words which they try to insult the popular geese with...which is never, ever a good idea, since a simple "fuck off" from a popular gosling is so much more powerful than a well placed complex modifier from the goose who's a hall monitor), are still sporting an egg tooth, and are most often found following behind their moms at the mall...and of course, they're never wearing the right outfit.

Which goose baby do you suppose I was?

The funny thing is, all geese look alike once adolescence is over. You can't tell one from the other in the V-formation, you only know that they all have to take their turn in the headwind no matter what the pecking order was in the pond (you see what I did there? "Pecking"? Nice.) And, they're all equally annoying what with their huge cigarette-ash looking poop that you can find all over the apartment complex (and I get fined if I don't pick up the Pip's poo...I seriously should be able to "fine" the next goose defecator with a shotgun) and pre-5 a.m. honking right outside my f**cking window.

I suppose you think I'm going to say something profound here and compare my little anecdote to life...

...nah.