When I was young I was in great shape. I was in my peak physical condition back when I was one. Man, I looked great. I even looked good for my age. Strangers would always approach me, smiling, and they’d say, “Look at you, little boy, what are you, zero?”
“Oh, no,” my mother would giggle. “He’s one.”
“Well, I’ll be danged. He doesn’t look a day past zero.”
“No, he’s one.” She’d blush proudly. My mother did all my talking for me back then because I hadn’t gotten the hang of it yet.
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