By now, you may have heard about the economic kerfluffle that threatens to disrupt my vanilla (code word for white), middle class way of life or, more importantly, my regular television schedule--I may soon be forced to tune into the Cartoon Network rather than the news lest I crumble in a heap of despair.
In case you, too, are vanilla and middle-class and the money police (read: Obaminions. I thought I made that up. I’ve been scooped!) have already taken your television and satellite dish in the generous spirit of redistribution of Oprah, Wolf Blitzer, and the Wiggles, don’t despair.
I offer you this bit of laissez-faire levity courtesy of Dave Chappelle and your very own Clever S’s mom-approved edits:
“Ladies, if [meow-meow] was a stock it would be plummeting right now because you’re flooding the market with it. You’re giving it away too easy. (Cue newscaster voice.) ‘Today, [meow-meow] was down on the NASDAQ, while gold was up ten points.’”
The topic of the good Dr. Chappelle’s lecture is that old-school favorite: sexonomics. (Scooped, again! Check back later for the official unveiling of my new moniker “Not-so Clever S.”)
In down-home, RSM speak – I am a Southern girl, you know – “If you’re flooding the market with milk, then ain’t no one gunna buy the cow. So you gotta keep the cow in the barn.” If. You. Know. What. I. Mean. And, if you don’t, you should stop reading now and go here.
I’ve heard the supply and demand, cow/milk/barn analogy for years. Used to, it just made me want an Oreo. Thanks to a recent restaurant visit, I see things differently now: Flooding the market with meow-meow or letting the cow out of the barn is like having three boatfuls of ranch dressing from the Cheesecake Factory. (Not that I would know ...)
The more ranch dressing you eat, the less you crave. That first taste? Sublime. Three boats later? Seventh deadly sin gluttony: Check. An excessive supply of anything decreases how much you value it thereby decreasing how much effort you are willing to expend to get it. Case in point: by the third serving, the taste of the dressing was no longer incentive enough to expend the energy it took to move my pizza crust all the way from the plate to the ranch to my mouth. More relevant case in point:
If a man can suck the ... udders ... for free, he's not going to put a ring ... through it's nose.
That's basic sexonomics. And a non-threatening reality for myself and my readers whose delicate flowers remain unplucked. Insert applause here. But what's a girl to do if the cow has already been out to pasture?
Become the crazy cat lady.
Now, due to my state of virginal innocence, I can't be sure this is the best conclusion. But if I were not in such a state, and if I were to have a conversation with my dog about it, and if that conversation were to have happened this morning, and if it were to have led me to that conclusion, I think it would have gone something like this:
The furball: Whining for a walk, while scratching and licking where the sun don’t shine.
Thought #1: “If I wanted to be woken up (no one says "awakened" first thing in the morning) by someone with bad breath and an affinity for butt scratching, I could have gotten a husband instead of a dog. At least then I’d have a diamond.”
Thought #2: “If the pitchfork-bearing farmer hadn’t left his post at the barn door, the cow might be married by now.”
Thought #3: “I shouldn’t think in analogies before 10 a.m.”
Thought #4: “Maybe it’s not too late!” Going one by one through the list of eligible bulls that I know. Pause. Unimpressed by said list.
Thought #5: “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll trade in my dog and become the crazy cat lady.”
I glanced at the furball hoping he wouldn’t notice I was awake and plotting his demise. He did. He continued to whine. I continued to sleep. He was ready to strut his stuff around the neighborhood. And, I smiled, knowing I was content to strut my stuff in bed … alone.
UPDATE: I have been informed by a loyal reader (who must have mistaken me for one whose cow had escaped the barn) that "a prize cow is a prize cow and one day someone will pay any price to bring it home."
Thank you, dear reader, I think.