Sexonomics and the Crazy Cat Lady

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:

8 a.m.

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.


  1. This is one of the funniest posts you've written! I laughed out loud the whole way through!

  2. "My Grandmother always used to say 'why buy the cow, when you can get the sex for free'."

    This post seemed a bit choppy and disjointed at times but you get a gold star if you recognize the quote (pre-Googling, of course).

  3. "A man would do nothing if he waited until he could do it so well that no one could find fault." - John Henry Newman

    I'll have to pass on the goldstar. Googling proved that the quote was from before my time.

  4. Signorina Logan,
    I would be remiss if I did not offer up the admonition that crazy cat ladies are often associated with spinsters (see here for documentary evidence - http://ennuipundit.wordpress.com/?attachment_id=1031) so perhaps those cowgirls who have let their stock run wild and free will need to instead discover a different future vocation. Not that there's anything wrong with spinsterism, or even its rather healthy antecedent of self-denial until such time that one has found another worthy of the supremely valuable gift of purity. In fact, purity, while undervalued by the market that deems it mythic, illustrates Dr. Chappelle's point rather well. Its rarity makes it priceless, and praiseworthy. Spinsterism and self-denial are choices we may make, or may choose not to make. But they remain our own choices to make. Of course, you likely need not reminder of this, but citing one of my favorite writers (who I have cited before in your comment section, I might add) remaining unattached, like being attached to another, is a blessing from God and while Paul's writing in the seventh chapter of the first epistle to the Corinthians can lead to mischief (those wily Shakers!) his sage advice merits due consideration. Perhaps the caliber of bulls you find in nearby pastures is indicative of the direction in which you are being led. And where you are led, the best blessings for you will be waiting, along with the requisite trials and troubles to keep your focus where it need be. And that remains true whether the cow has been locked safely in the barn, put out to pasture, or sent out to tour the state fair causeway collecting blue ribbons.

    Regrettably, I must be off. I have felt an unshakable need to sing "Sunny day - Sweepin’ the clouds away, On my way to where the air is sweet. Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?" at the top of my lungs, and I fear it can no longer be contained.

    PS-Thanks for the kind words you left at my blog. I apologize for being a rather poor correspondent. the paying gig has interrupted my time for the composition of emails. Take care.

  5. Where were all the beautiful, intelligent, conservative girls with morals when I was in college? And grad school? And everywhere else I've been? I finally had to leave the country to find one!

    To expand on the analogy...you need to find someone who realizes that owning a prize cow sure beats the free milk you get from that bony snakeweed-fed heifer that wanders around the town square all day.

  6. "Googling proved that the quote was from before my time."

    Why Miss Logan, you cut me to the quick, darlin. You kids today have no appreciation for the classics. But on the plus side this is the first time you've actually responded to one of my comments since our little dust-up following your stunningly unfunny debut.

    I can sense you warming up to me. If you want to start coming by my site again I promise not to tell any of your "friends". Stay sexy, doll.