Butterflies and Sleep Deprivation

I'm tired.  When I'm tired I'm grumpy.  When I'm grumpy I'm impatient.  When I'm impatient I miss Nancy.

"Pixies are like wasps," I said to The Dog.

"Excuse me?" said he.

"They fly around, you can never quite trust them, you don't know where they're going to land, and they're like wasps," said I.

"You're begging the question," said The Dog.

"What does that mean?"

"Never mind.  The point is, you could just as easily say that pixies are like butterflies.  They fly around, they're free spirited, you don't know where they're going to land, and they're like butterflies."

"Wasps."

"Pixies don't have stingers."

"They have teeth."

"You've been bitten by a pixie?"

"That's not the point," I said.

"What is the point?" asked The Dog.

"The point is that pixies hang out with Nancy."

"Oh," said The Dog.  "You miss Nancy."

I didn't bother to answer.

"But," he said, "if you think about it calmly, you have to admit that pixies are more like butterflies than wasps."

"Fine," I said.  "Pixies are like butterflies."

"Glad you could overcome your fatigue-induced-grumpiness enough to admit it," said The Dog.

"I hate butterflies," said I.

--Pete