I am not a duckling. I am a baby duck. There’s a difference. Ducklings are immature, spoiled, no-good animals with no vocabulary to speak of (heh). I am a baby duck. Baby ducks can speak in monologue format without caring who hears, since we know we are impressive.
Baby ducks are able to care for themselves. My mom disagrees with me and says that I should stay with the family in the pond for a bit longer. I don’t care about that. I, a baby duck, will strike out on my own. My knapsack and I will totally be the kings of the pond. The new pond. The kings of the new pond that I will find. On my own.
I’m not going to tell my mom where I’m going. Technically, I am running away. Technically, I guess some people would call me a duckling. I, a baby duck, don’t care. I’m grown and can care of myself.
“Jared! There’s bugs for dinner, you’d better come get them”
Maybe I can wait until after dinner.
In fact, I think I’ll wait until after dinner a few weeks from now.