SCHADENFREUDE!
OH, SCHADENFREUDE!
Those of you who have been here a year or more may recall our neighbors, the Macbeths (not their real name--but it should be). Although I would seldom wish ill upon a fellow human being, in this case I definitely make an exception, for they have brought misery and suffering upon our own kingdom for the last three years and unrepentantly born false witness before the Grand Tribunal with no other end than to visit evil upon us and from no other motive than spite and malice. Allbeit Lord Macbeth was not the instigator, but a willing pawn of his "Lady"--if that be the term. (My Joe hath suggested that the correct title is Contessa with a change in the first vowel.)
This week, through a mutual acquaintance, we have learned what we long suspected, that Lord MacB fears his own kingdom may soon be rent assunder by a divorce.
The causes thereof are twofold.
First, that Lady M has grown tired of child-rearing and wishes to be relieved of the onus (no Cinderella darling she). Lord MacB, as we ourselves have observed, truly loves his lisping tot. However, as he must spend the day in his campaigns away from the castle, it has fallen upon his parents on most days to care for the child, while his wife recluses herself in the tower, cooking eyes of newt and toes of frog, no doubt.
Shakespeare has her say,
"I have given suck, and know
How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:
I would, while it was smiling in my face,
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you
Have done to this."
Act I, Scene 7
What she actually said, three years ago, when asked if she planned to breast-feed her newborn, was,
"I'm not a COW!"
And when the child fell ill at three months, and we said to her mother, "I'm sure you feel her pain," she replied, "I feel MY OWN PAIN!"
The second cause of Lord Macbeth's doubts is that he fears that his Lady may be dallying with one of the stable hands, but he knows not which.
Of course, he's deaf and dumb and blind! (Oh, a
Pal Joey reference!) It is quite clear from our tower whose chariot is parked outside their castle for hours when the Lord is off at his campaigns. (And did we let the name slip to our mutual acquaintance? Ah me, I fear we did.)
Shakespeare has her say,
"Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief!"
Act I, Scene 5
In actual fact she spent a large bit of money last year augmenting her breasts. Perhaps her husband might have wondered why that was the priority of the mother of a three-year-old? Well, she's not a cow--or so she claims.
I hope I don't sound spiteful, but I think those of you who know some of the misery that Joe went through last year will understand my pleasure in watching our self-declared enemies bring destruction upon themselves.
