Counting (n.) past twenty is taught by a gesture that says go on, and the child who does not respond to it is separated from the others and treated as a lunatic.
Counting (n.) is learnt with endless practice and merciless exactitude because it is a technique woven into our daily life, not a pastime.
Counting (n.) that skips numbers — 1, 2, 4, 5, 7 — might be practical in some circumstances, as might a ruler that shrinks between rooms.
Counting (n.) by different methods practically always agrees, and that brute fact underlies our arithmetic.
Counting (n.) as a method, not numerals as abbreviations, is what matters in arithmetic.
Counting (n.) is not done because it is practical — we count! And so we calculate.
Counting (n.) could be a closed system like a tune: numbers end where the melody ends.
Counting (n.) could not be learnt by people if all the objects around them kept rapidly coming into being and passing away.
Counting (n.) on one's fingers, where five is a hand, would make the decimal system no arbitrary method but simply what counting is.