Lately, my Granny has taken it upon herself to teach Ruby little nursery rhymes. It’s really quite sweet, she used to teach me the same ones when I was a little girl, way back in the late eighties.
One particular rhyme is about Little Jenny Wren, a bird who gets sick and is nursed back to health with cake and wine by some kind of Florence Nightingale of the bird world, Robin Red Breast.
Cake and wine? I wonder if that works for humans as well? I think I am going to explore the medicinal properties of baked treats and vino the next time I am poorly.
Obviously thinking he’s a bit of a catch, maybe even somewhat of a lothario, Robin then expects to make Jenny Wren his wife but she rebuffs him in no uncertain terms by telling him she loves him not a bit.
An enraged Robin Red Breast realizes he’s been had and kicks her out of his nest, his departing words to her being “Out upon you, fie upon you, bold-faced jig”
Well, this little ditty has Ruby really quite enthralled. And she likes to recite it. Unfortunately, it seems she might just have forgotten the words as, the other day, I’d just picked her up from preschool and swooped in for my usual kiss, when she announced:
Then she pushed me away, pointed her finger and shouted,
“fly up on you, po-faced shit”