My birthday falls on a Wednesday, which has ressurected a long-standing grudge I have against Mother Goose (hey, we all have our torches to burn). I was born on a Wednesday, and if you don’t know the rhyme, here it is:

by Mother Goose

Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go.
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is fair and wise and good and gay.

Stupid rhyme. Why do all the other kids get blessings–look! You’re beautiful! Graceful! Wise!–and the poor schlubs born in the middle of the week get “woe”?

*Grumble* *Grumble*

Dang rhyme makes me suddenly wish for a holiday, stuffing, cranberries, and you guessed it, cooked goose.*

Seriously, though, woe? WOE? Why woe? Just the thought of that psychic heritage makes me sad, anxious, and…full of woe.


Dang. She was right–but am I full of woe ’cause I was born on a Wednesday or is it that the rhyme has caused the woe?

*Just kidding–I don’t need that kind of karmic debt. The only animals I can eat without feeling full of guilt are seafood (although, I feel really bad every time I eat calamari) and chicken.