So now, they’re trying to outlaw the bringing home of the “bacon” and the crying over the spilt milk. What about the party that lasted till the cows came home, and the gal who gave away the milk so her boyfriend didn’t have to buy the cow?
Are the top bananas in the Big Apple done with pork barrel politics? And will the upper-crust among us no longer be in charge of the cream of the crop? That’s the killing of more than two birds with one nervous little malnourished stone if you ask me, and I wonder if they thought of that. Anyhow I’m a vegan and I can assure everyone that most of us are too busy to concern ourselves over this trivia.
Besides which, it’s our language. What about those whose eggs are all in one basket? Can we no longer have our ducks in a row? Will we no longer be asked to hold our horses or will we be allowed to lead our horses to water? How about the guy last week whose goose was cooked? Is he still out of options, as he was on that day, or can he now assume that he’s invited to a nice dinner with a roasted bird and all the trimmings?
I know the “cat’s cradle” we used to make with string is out, but it is a bird in the hand still worth more than two in the bush would be? If I can figure out how to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear will I no longer be allowed to do that? And will we have to cancel the “pigs in a blanket” from the game-day menu? It doesn’t make a “hill of beans” of difference to most of us.
Yes, I do have a few more, for as you know it’s usually apples and oranges. I mean that’s just the way the cookie crumbles. The rest is all gravy, to me. Just icing on the cake. So don’t be chicken. Go out and make your bread and butter. Soon enough they’ll decide the O’Henry and Baby Ruth candy bars are sexist, and outlaw them too.
I want to be included in the next meeting of these vegan Bertha-better-than-thou language editors to remind them of the poem wherein four-and-twenty blackbirds got themselves baked in a pie, to see how many of them will faint.
Esther Ramos
