Completely Non-Farmish Rambling, Part 2

Remember that damnittohell chigger bite I had on my toe?

Yep, still itching, but not nearly as bad.  Almost soaked my foot in a bucket of Clorox yesterday.

Almost.

When I was writing that last chigger post and doing research on my chigger-facts to make sure I wasn't a complete rambling iddiot, I also did a search on the toes.  Like, were there certain names for the specific toes?  You know, besides "Big Toe" and "Pinky Toe".

Did you know that only the big and last digits on your feet actually have names?  Hallux is the technical/medical term for your big toe and the common name for the last toe is, as we all know, the pinky toe.  So why did the other three toes between "This Little Piggy went to Market" and "Wee-wee-wee all the way home" get jipped out of proper names?  Doesn't seem fair if you asked me.  Which you didn't.

"This Littly Piggy....."  Cute or scary? 

Then that got me thinking about the "This Little Piggy" rhyme we all know and love.  Well, you may not love it after I reveal this shocking news to you.  Because it took me into my late twenties to realize that the little piggy that want to "Market" wasn't so much grabbing her purse and running out the door to do some grocery shopping at the local supermarket for bread and milk.

Nope.  That piggy was going to be shot or bludgeoned to death, chest cut open from neck to anus, have his insides ripped out of his body and then cut up into various cuts of pork, wrapped in butcher paper and put into the freezer.  It was THAT kind of Market.

So we now know the real story.  Piggy number one, the biggest (Big Toe) went to the slaughterhouse.  He did not go to do his weekly grocery shopping at Trader Joe's.

Piggy number Two got to stay home.  Possibly to be used as breeding stock.

Piggy number Three was obviously being fattened up as he was being feed roast beef, and will soon meet Piggy number One in the freezer section as packages of breakfast sausage, bacon and chops.

Piggy number Four didn't get any roast beef.  The reasoning for his starvation is left up to our imagination.  Which isn't necessarily a good thing given what's happening already.

And Pinky, Piggy number Five, was obviously witness to his mother/father being slaughtered and ran screaming in horror all the way back to the farm.

Probably into the arms of a hungry farmer thinking how wonderful it would be to have a young and  tender pig on the spit for the weekend picnic.

So there you go folks.  Another nursery rhyme totally ruined for you.

You're welcome.