COW

Warning to the Sensitive: The ultimate expletive appears multiple times in paragraph five.

It's been so long since I've written a COW post that I think the right thing to do would be to explain that many, many years ago my second friend named Polly told me I was just a COW, that is, a Cranky Old Woman. I wasn't really even that old, but I accepted the honor nonetheless. And embraced it, I might add.

There are three things setting me off today.

First, this morning when I read an article in my New York Times about people who spend between $10,000 and $40,000 on birthday parties for their six-year-olds, it all came back to me. COW! Initially, I was speechless. Now, a couple of hours later, I still can't put into words -- or identify, actually -- my feelings about this. So I'll just commend it to your attention.

Moving right along, I've noticed that since emerging from Covid, many, many more people have turned into constant interrupters. It's as though everything they wanted to say during those awful months (and years) is now uncontrollably bursting out of them. It's not, "Excuse me, but there seems to be flames coming out of your sofa," no, not at all. Just a verbal barging-in when I've started to share one of my more profound thoughts.  And due to my failing short-term memory, there's a certain urgency to my getting my utterance uttered. It reminds me of an evening back in 1970 when I interrupted a friend who was embarking on a story about an airedale terrier and he refused to continue once I'd realized what I'd done. Fifty-three years and I still wonder what I missed. I continue to admire Bob Davis's approach and actually have begun to use it on the odd occasion.

Finally, trying to find something to watch on the telly of an evening has long been a challenge in our household. Himself likes to watch a fine murder mystery, or something that is terribly, terribly complicated, or -- worst of all -- science fiction. I'll pick anything with George Clooney (but you already know that) or a nice, heart-warming story about a lost dog (not necessarily an airedale), and the occasional World War II classic. Fortunately, we both like a good period piece (we've watched Pride and Prejudice so many times that we both are silently saying many of the better lines along with the actors), most of the series that show up on Masterpiece Theatre, and nature programs (David Attenborough is our hero), you know, that kind of civilized offering. Recently, though, we've tried some of the more popular series and movies, the ones that seem to have mass appeal, and both of us are astonished at the preponderance of the use of "the F word." We haven't resorted to counting, but we estimate that in a typical 45-minute segment, "I fucking told you" and "you'd better fucking believe it" and "fuck fuck FUCK" among other variations are heard upwards of 42 times. My theory is that there is some rule, well-known to producers and little-known to the average viewer, that permits the use of that word but limits it to 42 times in 45 minutes. I've always thought this word was one to save for a truly awful happening, like coming down with Covid the day your entire family is supposed to board a ship for a ten-day cruise, y'know, that kind of thing. What the heck word do these people have for that circumstance, having used up all of their you-know-whats on having broken a fingernail?

Okay, I feel better now.