Curds

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.

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Cottage Industry

Cottage industry: (n) any small-scale, loosely organized industry.

Here’s the ideal:

Making cottage cheese in my cottage to establish a cottage industry.

I don’t know whether it would work, but it certainly has appeal. A great sales line, don’t you think?funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

“Where did you make that cottage cheese?”

“Well, darn tootin’! I made it right there in my cottage.”

“Well—that gives you quite a cottage industry.”

It would be so simple. Of course, there would have to be a large market for cottage cheese, and you would have to compete with the Big Barons of Cottage Cheese—whoever that would be.

But if you were actually able to sell enough cottage cheese from your cottage to have a cottage industry, you could go back to your cottage every night and do cottage things, knowing that all the bills for your cottage were paid, and settle into your cottage for a good night of sleep, while your tummy digested your meal of cottage cheese.

It’s a perfect story.

Maybe that’s why it doesn’t work.


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Bust-Up

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Bust-up: (n) the end of a relationship

Excuses are always offered when the real reasons must be disguised.

This is one of the greatest frailties of the human race–in an attempt to be kind, gentle and even-handed, we often end up being liars, cheaters and spreaders of misinformation.

Every bust-up is like that.

The real source of the problem between two people–or a bunch of people–is hidden because it may sound trivial.

So we try to develop what I call a “cottage cheese” explanation. In other words, so bland that everyone will be able to stomach it. In the process, we lead others astray–while deep in their hearts, they sense they have been duped.

But maybe we want to be misled–the truth of the matter might require us to consider our weakness. Or maybe a revelation of the actual dilemma would make us feel silly and shallow.

Whatever the excuse is, a bust-up is always a little piece of deceit dipped in chocolate.

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