Invertebrates have no idea just how fortune smiled upon their meager lives
by denying them the gift of a spine. No backbone means no bulging discs, or
shooting pains from hip to shin. On most days I’m proud to count thirty-three
vertebrae from stem to stern, to be among the higher order of God’s creative will,
but today I’d gladly trade places with a spineless critter, preferably a
butterfly instead of a spider or mollusk. Certainly not a sponge.