My beloved came up with an interesting charge against me. Namely, she called me a spoiled brat. By way of proof, she said that I kept moving from country to country all my life. Spoiled as I have been, I could not take it anywhere I moved, and so I kept moving again and again. Although she did not mention New Zealand, where I would surely like to move next, it would fit into my spoiled ways. When I asked her whether all spoiled brats changed countries just as I did, she would not commit herself. I was spoiled in my own way, she said. But I was delighted by her theory. And I did my best to expand it at once. Who left Africa some fifty-thousand years ago? Spoiled brats. Who left Europe a century or so ago? Spoiled brats, of course. The eternal migrations on this planet can thus be explained in one fell swoop. As I was going on and on, my beloved just squinted at me without a word. Her own theory did not please her a single bit. But I could not but feel thankful to spoiled brats across millennia. No wonder I am one of them, too.