The meritocracy had matured and grown tired.
Rampant self-sacrifice had gone unchecked by the selfish needs of the village women.
No one had stopped to consider the consequences.
The unfortunates were too busy encouraging their husbands to do the right thing so they too could experience the pleasures of the fortunate.
But when the last unfortunate was elevated they all became unfortunates once again.
As the only male left in the village capable of producing children it was up to the chief to get busy right away and start making more unfortunates.
He laid out his plan and began fleshing out a schedule that would be fair to everyone.
His wife, out of breath from carrying all of the double winners across the village to attend the meeting, stared at him slack jawed.
What about her?
She was the one doing all the work now and the meritocracy had made no room for her whatsoever.
She had run head first into the paradox that accompanies all meritocracies.
The person doing the most work got the least reward.
Just as the chaos of democracies always lead to despots, the inherent unfairness of meritocracies always breeds a victim class.
And the chief’s wife would spend the rest of her life as one of those victims always on the lookout for someone to blame.
Now when her and the chief passed each other in the village, him off to a hut to make another unfortunate and her the only one left to piggyback past winners, cook the food, watch the kids, dig the aZZanddis and chase down dinner for the whole village she could do little more than give him dirty looks and wonder if he had cooked the whole thing up right from the beginning.
He always pretended not to notice and hurried on his way.