I was born on Wednesday, August 13th in the year of our lord 1969. For reals.
This ode has been stuck in my head for a few days now. There are many variations of "Monday's Child" - the fortune telling rhyme of old - but this is the version I grew up with.
Monday's child is fair of face.
Tuesday's child is full of grace.
Wednesday's child is full of woe.
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving.
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
While I currently am not full of woe, there are times when I am one with the woe. Until last year, I thought I was born on a Saturday (which also blows...who wants to be told as a child that they'll have to spend their life working hard? I call bullshit, Anon!)
Still, I love words that are considered "olde timey" and not used often in the general vernacular of today. Which means that while I think this poem should have it's ass kicked, I also secretly love that I am linked to "woe." Especially in this case, since I embrace the hyperbolic like Lenny loved his rabbit.
I am not sad. I am not depressed. I am full of woe.
Deal with it.
Okay. I just sat here and tried to think of a way of wittily squeezing the use of "calamity" in this post. It's one of my favorite words. Calamity. If I had to name a town or if I ever got a companion for Olive, I would name it/he/she, Calamity.
Wait. That's not true. If it was a town, I would name it Calamity. If it was another dog, I would name it Elia Frumpkin. If it was a blue goldfish, I would name it Calamity...or Monroe. And if it was a pygmy hedgehog, I would name it Pai Mei. Because, Pai Mei has much to teach and will kick your ass if provoked.
And if anyone ever gave me a pygmy hedgehog for my birfdaye?...well, after Olive killed it, I would send them a heartfelt, tear-stained thank you card with poloriods of the bloody remains.
Note to self: pen rap lyric that contains, "...like Lenny loved his rabbit."
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