Fat Chance

Bluddle-Uddle-Um-Dum

Step up to the tub 
It ain’t no disgrace 
Just pull up your sleeves 
And get up in place 
Then scoop up the water 
And rub it on your face 
An’ go blud-dle-ud-dle-ud-dle 
Ud-dle-um-dum 

Pick up the soap 
Now don’t try to to bluff 
Work up a lather 
An’ when ya got enough 
Get your hands full of water 
Ya snort an ya snuff 
An’ go blud-dle-ud-dle-ud-dle 
Ud-dle-um-dum 

Ya douse an souse 
Ya rub and scrub 
Ya sputter and splash all over the tub 
You may be cold and wet when your done 
But ya gotta admit it’s goot clean fun 

So splash all ya like 
It ain’t any trick 
As soon as your through 
You’ll feel mighty slick 
Bunch of old nanny goats 
Ya make me sick, goin’ 
An’ go blud-dle-ud-dle-ud-dle 
Ud-dle-um-dum 

Now scrub good an’ hard 
It can’t be denied 
That he’ll look mighty cute 
As soon as he’s dried 
Well it’s good for the soul 
And it’s good for the hide 
To go blud-dle-ud-dle-ud-dle 
Ud-dle-um-dum

Lyrics to the washing up song from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.

Perhaps to dream

My only recurring dream played again last night. The dream is remarkable not only for its fidelity to plot and regularity of occurrence, but also for the duration of its run. I have been dreaming this dream since the Johnson administration.

In the dream I discover an embankment or small mound of earth studded with dozens of arrowheads - glossy black obsidian, iron-stained chert, gray-blue flint, and quartz as white as pearls or clear as glass. Some are imperfect, but all are delicately knapped. I fill my pockets, and eventually wake up - bereft of pockets and arrowheads alike.

I am not an artifact hunter, and it has been many years since I found an arrowhead. Yet I am always inexplicably saddened by this dream. It leaves me feeling moody and morose.

Interpretations, anyone?