We have a houseguest, a little old man, who can’t see very well, or hear, or walk. He sleeps a lot, which is good, but he dribbles food out the side of his mouth, grunts and wheezes, and is impatient about almost everything. He has little control over his arms and legs making it necessary to carry him everywhere, he passes gas with no sense of shame, and cannot control his bodily functions. What a little hair he’s got on his head is a light dusting that is receding to the back crown like a defeated army. None of his clothes really fit him well, so he’s usually swimming in a short with the collar up around his cheekbones. Much of the time he has an expression of confusion, except when he stares at a wall for minutes at a time.
And yet despite all this, everyone wants to hug him.