My mind is not highly vocabularied. In fact, it is a jumble of mishaps and misrepresentations of the English language. Words with mistaken identities. Thrown amongst none their equal. What comes out of my mouth doesn't compute with what goes on in command central. Like Captain-Explain-Yourself thinking he's firing a high-impact round of precision and clarity, when all that comes out of that gun are flowers and doo.
Cliches are in there somewhere, hiding from me. They hate me.
Like the six to one half dozen of the eggs in my basket in the hayfield with the black kettle who got the short end of the raw deal, hiding behind the horse's foot in my mouth.
I've learned to accept it. We just try to leave eachother alone.
Nursery rhymes...oh brother...those claim anomoly. Am I ignorant? Maybe. I prefer uneducated. Wait a minute...
There was an old woman living in a shoe, who didn't have a bone for her dog, cause she ate flies, and whipped all her kids....while the spider sat on her muffet. Huh?
Oh, literary pleasantries.
I've had this "thing" with the old woman in the shoe. I remember as a child sitting on our blue flowery couch reading in a book of nursery rhymes, looking at this picutre and thinking..."I'm glad I don't live in her shoe."
It is, in fact, such an ugly shoe. I'd prefer some Vans. A classic slip-on. Camoflauge. So all those kids couldn't find me. Or maybe some clear sparkly Jellies from the 80's. My favorite.
Uh, yeah, okay...again, words alone are sketchy. Don't judge them so harshly.
Here's the history.
All those kids were the members of the English Parliament, and the shoe was the Parliament House. Makes sense.
The term "whip" is given to the English Parliament member who is tasked with making sure the other members toe the line. (There's another one. What the heck does toe the line mean? I know, do what's right, follow the rules, blah blah. What does that have to do with toes?)
So there it is. The poor cranky woman I labeled as cruel and needing Social Service attention was really a powerful man with fashion sense. All these years, wasted. We could've had a relationship.
Funny how easy it is to brand someone by the words we think we understand, referring only to our own subjective dictionary, without delving a little into their history?
One time Conan was leaving the house, on our anniversary, and so I asked him where he was going and he said he was going to see a man about a dog. I was SO mad. I didn't want a smelly dog for our anniversary! SO DUMB! I'm not going to love that dog...what is he thinking...
He came home with a trunk load of flowers and window boxes. For me. I apologized.
Point being, I've learned something from the Old Woman. You can't launch an inquisition on a persons reverenced past; so you can't pretend to know the true story behind their flowers and doo. Or what's going on inside their shoe. Whether it be an ugly old crowded boot, or a funky red stiletto. Who cares.
I'm sure the ugly boot was charming.
Like a camel in a haystack.