Curds: (n) any substance resembling curd cheese
“Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet
Eating her curds and whey.
Along came a spider, who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away.”
You may view this as a nursery rhyme.
Actually, it is a warning to young men everywhere, written in code, requiring deciphering.
First of all, beware any woman who would call herself “Little Miss Muffet.”
The word “little” by itself tells you that she will be on a diet the entire duration that you know her, which means you will also need to be on the same regimen, because of her obsession to always be slimmer.
Shall we examine the word “Miss?” She believes everything she owns, wears, or dangles from her is gold. You are merely coming to the museum to buy a ticket to see it.
I don’t even want to talk about Muffet.
But here’s where it gets interesting: she sat on a tuffet.
Soon in our story, a spider will appear.
If you don’t want to see spiders, don’t sit on a tuffet, which is a footstool close to the ground. This is obviously spider turf.
How arrogant of you, Little Miss, to think you can invade Spider World without being challenged?
And what is the Little Miss eating? Curds and whey.
For those of you less aware, that is the old-fashioned configuration for cottage cheese.
There you go.
She’s not eating a hot dog. She’s not munching a burger. You see, if you get with this chick, you’re headin’ for vegetarian—to eventually die a vegan.
So along comes a spider (surprise, surprise) and sat down beside her. Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a spider to sit? Where, after all, do you put all the legs?
It was an act of friendliness, certainly misinterpreted by a spoiled rotten little brat, who should probably choke on those curds.
To make it worse—or to make it clear, depending on your perspective—she sees the spider, feigns horror and runs away.
Now, you’re a spider. You didn’t bite anyone. You came, you sat down. God knows, you weren’t interested in the curds and whey. Your goal was interaction. Inter-species exchange of values.
That damn bigot—Miss Muffet—ran away when she saw you.
Maybe it’s because she heard how well-endowed black spiders are.