Really hoping that my nice font is working this time – it seemed to dislike kite flying day. Anyway, today being White T-shirt Day, I naturally decided to celebrate it by not wearing a white t-shirt. Which may be strange, but these days are all about doing something unusual, and I wear white t-shirts too often. Almost every circus performance I do, for example, seems to involve wearing white. They’re quite good to wear under shirts in the winter, too. Fun fact: the T-shirt evolved from underwear in the 19th Century (1800s). Okay, so that’s not actually that fun, but hey. I have 5 white t-shirts.
Of course, we can’t go forgetting that today is also Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk Day. Now, I’m sure that this is meant to be a metaphor, and I’m meant to do something deep and meaningful today, and that I’m meant to take this phrase as a central guideline to my entire life. But there’s no fun in that. So, instead, I spilt some milk. And didn’t cry over it. (It was a proper spill, by the way. None of this pouring a bit of milk onto the side. There was a bottle of milk, without a lid on, and I knocked it over. The milk was spilled. And I didn’t cry.)
Interestingly, while I was standing there, looking at the puddle of milk, and struggling to hold back the tears, a thought occurred to me. The phrase is always “don’t cry over spilt milk.” Does that mean you can cry under it? Or beside it? And are you allowed to cry over spilt water? Spilt apple juice? Spilt maple syrup? Spilt blood?
(Don’t go spilling blood. That would be bad).
Having had all these interesting thoughts, and successfully avoided crying, I went to get a cloth. I might go to sleep in a white T-shirt. Just for the sake of it. But I'll leave you with an important question: is it spilt, or spilled?
No comments:
Post a Comment