Well I’ve seen Woody Woodpecker cartoons, cobbled together my life and eaten
some cobblers and love the sound of “cobble, cobbles, cobbles.” I am
co-operative, but am I a Co-operative, but wait when I was 21 (when the earth
was young and you could still see primordial bubbles from your back porch) an
attorney I worked for gave me a Charles Addams Wednesday doll, and he bought it
from the Harvard Coop or Co-op, and it was a Christmas gift becuz I was his
secretary, and I went flying around all floors of the firm, ecstatic to show my
I was more manic then. Life has honed my psyche down, and upped my physical
presence, i.e., I have a bigger shadow on the sidewalk. Question of the day;
“Does my shadow look fat”?
Answer that question, and like a cultural sleuth that you are, you can
determine, country of origin, and maybe which coast, the left or right the
original questioner lives, or the best coast some people say. No, a duck will
not come out of the ceiling, but you will feel the satisfaction of knowing, and
maybe identifying silly clues, all the while as your derriere goes by a Ross
Dress for Less Window, and you note your nose was ahead of you a good city
Does Ann of Green Gables qualify? Many a Gable makes a gobble and one could
cobble those phrases together if one wanted to bore the hell out of next weeks
respondees to prompts, so one won’t.
But I’ve never played Polo.
Now the perfect man is another matter. I have Old Friends, new friends, young
friends, weird friends (the best) and all manner of friends; I have a husband
who is the perfect man for me, notice the small letters, no initial caps for
this guy, but he’s an earthly being who sometimes I want to wrap around the
pole, but then I remember my own looming eccentricities and feel gratitude
instead; so he’s my perfect man, and we have one bed and two coffees which he
bring to me every morning, no he doesn’t bring the bed, but the coffee.
And so as the sun beams into my right eyeball, and I am late for a doctor’s
appointment with the Perfect Man, and I am in my imperfect flannel, plaid,
green, black, purple nightshirt, I will escape this cobbled rambling and slither
hither and thither into the day.