My mother had a habit —
endearing it was not —
that ended every argument
abruptly on the spot.
“That’s just dumb!” the guillotine,
no gentle, soft word cuddle,
the end, finis, the fortress wall
to onslaught of rebuttal.
To consider rank stupidity,
deserving of disdain,
to her was waste of time
and energy and brain.
I’d messily implode
when she Mommed me in this way,
but I must admit I hear me
quoting her today.
“Don’t cook chicken in Nyquil,”
the headline black and bold,
bewilders and confounds —
is it just because I’m old?
Besides the who-cares? key
that’s lacking on my board,
the that’s-just-dumb key’s missing
and I’d like it underscored.
Really, dear reader? Don’t cook chicken in Nyquil? Did you ever wish your parents, grandparents, or others in their generations were around to react to the things that assail us on the computer screen? I do. I think I’d laugh a lot.
Cookbook by Betty Crocker, 1940. Which you probably guessed.
I like to keep things that are older than I am, even if squeakingly so.