The unexpected

That's what you get around here, people.

Sure, I could complain about the weather, but how much imagination does that take? Nobody want to put on their mukluks to attend Good Friday services, which, in case you're blackbird and don't know, take place two days before Easter. It's the typical Chicago situation: the stores are full of pastel clothes and marked down candy, the florist department of the local supermarket is overflowing with potted lilies and daffodils, and everyone's walking around in down-filled waterproof foul weather gear. Because it's snowing.

So there's that. Or I could complain about the number of hours I'm spending in church these days. Because it's reaching the point where they're going to start charging me rent.

Instead, I'll quote a conversation that took place yesterday between yours truly, the English major who wrote her Master's thesis on Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, and my 11-year old daughter.

Poppette: Does Shakespeare ever use swears?
Poppy: Well ... not really. Some of his characters use what we might call vulgar language. Like when somebody calls Falstaff a bag of guts. Or somebody might call a woman a strumpet.
Poppette: What's a strumpet?
Poppy: A strumpet is a woman who ... um ... isn't very picky about whom she smooches. Basically, she'll smooch anyone who asks. Shakespeare's characters will call someone "a vile strumpet." But he doesn't use the "f" word or the "s" word.
Poppette: So does Shakespeare use the "h" word?
Poppy: I can't remember if anyone says "hell." But I could easily imagine it.
Poppette: Not that "h" word. The other one.
Poppy: Which one is that?
Poppette: Whore.