The resident faculty left a note swaying outside the mail room this morning. The staff hope it was a clue…. (More)
First our thanks to last week’s writers:
On the weekend, the resident faculty concluded their Unglued series with Seeing Each Other in Saturday’s Morning Feature, Sen. Ted Cruz asked Ms. Crissie Free Speech for Me, PC for Thee? in Sunday’s Morning Feature, and Winter B brought our weekly Eco News Roundup in Our Earth.
Note: Please share your stories of offline political activism in Things We Did This Week.
Thus we return to note swaying outside the mail room as the resident faculty made their way from the
wine cellar library where they spent the weekend drinking thinking on our motto of Magis vinum, magis verum (“More wine, more truth”) to the hot tub faculty lounge for their weekly game where the underwear goes flying planning conference. The note was only a single word:
“Ahem,” Chef said with as she brought out the decoder ring.
The Squirrel cautiously tapped at his Blewberry. “What?”
“They’ve settled,” Chef said, “but they’re not pendulous.”
The Squirrel looked at the
Professor of Astrology Janitor. The Professor of Astrology Janitor shook his head. “I don’t know either. And I don’t think we should ask.”
Chef reached for the pastry knife. “No, you most definitely should not.”
“Perhaps I might help with that,” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor said, deftly taking the knife from beneath Chef’s hand. “Just in case.”
“Just in case what?” Chef demanded. “In case they meant the second chin that Professor Plum lost when he started jogging? Or maybe Ms. Scarlet’s … asset?”
“Datz a set?” Pootie the Precious texted on her iHazPhone.
Professor of Astrology Janitor said as he sliced the decoder ring and scraped stray pecans into the Squirrel’s bowl. “Like when they call it ‘a pair of pants’ or ‘a pair of shorts’ but it’s just one garment.”
The Squirrel tapped at his Blewberry. “That’s because way back each pantaloon leg was a separate garment and they joined at the belt. But of course people bought them in pairs.”
“Ahh, like chaps,” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor said.
“U meen guyz?” Pootie the Precious texted.
The Squirrel shook his head and tapped at his Blewberry. “No, not chaps like ‘the Smith brothers are nice chaps.’ He meant the leather chaps that cowboys wear over their trousers.”
Chef huffed. “This whole topic is chapping my hide.”
“That’s another interesting phrase,” the Squirrel texted. “In that sense, to chap is to dry and crack, like when you get chapped lips. But humans usually refer to their hide as skin, even though hide is Old German for skin and skin is Old Norse for hide. Both words came into English and evolved to mean different things.”
“Unlike pendulous,” Chef harrumphed, “which means only one thing.”
The Squirrel tapped at his Blewberry. “Actually, it has other definitions. Yes, the most common usage is hanging down and swinging freely.”
“As in ‘How’s it hanging?'” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor said, “to which one might respond ‘Pendulously.'”
“Except one never does,” Chef noted. “I’m just sayin’.”
“The second definition is basically the same,” the Squirrel texted, “but the third definition is ‘marked by vacillation, indecision, or uncertainty.'”
“So the resident faculty insulted my décolletage–” Chef began.
“–or Professor Plum’s chins, or Ms. Scarlet’s assets–” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor interjected.
“–because they don’t know what they’ll write about this week?” Chef concluded.
“Yes,” the Squirrel texted, “except décolletage means the neckline of a low-cut garment, rather than what the décolletage reveals.”
“The cleavage,” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor noted.
The Squirrel nodded and tapped at his Blewberry. “Yes, unless they’re–”
“–Don’t. Even. Go. There.” Chef said quietly.
Too quietly, as movie cowboys would say. While wearing their chaps.