12 January 2012

Thigh-High Boots and Inner Ice

No, no wake up call today. Just me, up before I had to be. Yet again. After being up for a bit, the only thing that keeps screaming through my brain cell is this song:

I may not be able, or have access, to do it literally, but figuratively, in my mind....it's ON. It's true, you know, the old adage about messing with a lionness and her cubs......but now, I have to go find the exact expression or it will drive me nuts.  I shall return. 

Found this, it pertains: 

Still looking, please take a moment to go refresh your beverage or take your morning constitutional....

Found this, too......it's kind of comical. And, no, I don't growl in slow motion: 

Still looking. I get distracted. Sue me. 

And finally, there is this.....

WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride, 

He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside. 

But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail. 

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man, 

He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can. 

But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail. 

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws, 

They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws. 

'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale. 

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say, 

For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away; 

But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale— 

The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man, a bear in most relations—worm and savage otherwise,— 

Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise. 

Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact 

To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.

Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low, 

To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe. 

Mirth obscene diverts his anger—Doubt and Pity oft perplex 

Him in dealing with an issue—to the scandal of The Sex!

But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame 

Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same; 

And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail, 

The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast 

May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest. 

These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells— 

She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.

She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great 

As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate. 

And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim 

Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.

She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties; 

Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!— 

He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild, 

Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.

Unprovoked and awful charges—even so the she-bear fights, 

Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons—even so the cobra bites, 

Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw 

And the victim writhes in anguish—like the Jesuit with the squaw!

So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer 

With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her 

Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands 

To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him 

Must command but may not govern—shall enthral but not enslave him. 

And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail, 

That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.

THAT is what I'm talking about. 

There's really no message from the Universe to ME today...there's a message from ME to certain other residents of the Universe......Mess with my cubs and I shall don my thigh-high, stiletto-heeled boots and dance all over your face. How you like them cumquats? 

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