Afraid of a spider? SERIOUSLY??? I read those words that Goose penned earlier this month and was incensed at the ludicrous prospect of actually feeling fear toward something which I’d collected and studied over the years, spending the lion’s share of my useful life researching the arachnid. It is difficult, rather near impossible, to be published in that field as a women arachnologist…and to be criticized by another woman nonetheless! Let’s look at the poem:
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
Along came a spider
Who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away
First of all, who uses the word tuffet this day and age? One might even use pouffe or hassock if they dared use tuffet in common, everyday language. Goose couldn’t take a little time and come up with a different word or set of words to rhyme with Muffet? Like, “thought she could tough it” or “knew she could rough it” or “might never stuff it.” I’m not even a writer and I came up with those rhymes in ten seconds!
Secondly, curds and whey? Does Goose not understand the common diet of a healthy person? I was eating Greek yogurt with almonds and blueberries…brain food, which Goose clearly needs to add to her diet. And rhyming whey with away? That’s just lazy!
Thirdly, the spider sat down? This written by someone who obviously did NO research whatsoever into the actions of the everyday spider. Given her verbiage I pictured a brown recluse kicking back into an overstuffed chair, remote in one hand, cheap beer in the other, watching an episode of Judge Judy. What kind of spider, Goose? Did it really SIT? Your powers of observation are, well, nonexistent!!!
And lastly, my aforementioned complaint: FRIGHTENED??? BY A SPIDER??? Let’s look at the facts. I was sitting on my porch grabbing a quick afternoon snack, reading the latest arachnid peer-reviewed journal called Arachnattack, when I saw the very rare Heteropoda Davidbowie spider walking slowly toward me. Not only is this a rare spider, but it is known only to exist in Malaysia, not in southern Tennessee where I currently reside. I quickly set my yogurt down and ran indoors to fetch one of my spider containers. When I returned, it was gone. I was frightened away? Hardly, Ms. Goose!
Finally, and most importantly, this leads to a misunderstanding of who Mildred “Mother” Goose really is: a staff poet for the National Enquirer whose only purpose in life is to belittle and destroy whomever she dislikes for the sake of her own fame, however infamous it might be. For whatever reason I ended up in her crosshairs and she decided to include me in one of her scathing pieces of literary tripe. They must have been spying on me because, included in her poem was a picture of me running across my porch, Heteropoda Davidbowie in the foreground. They even misnamed the spider, calling it a daddy-long-legger. Again…seriously???
I’ve seen Goose’s work take other people down. With her “Hey! diddle, diddle…” piece of shark chum I watched jazz violinist Jimmy “Cat” Evans become completely scandalized and ruined, implying to the world that he was lost in the drug world of methamphetamine and envisioned such things as high flying cattle, laughing dogs, and infidelity among dishes and spoons. She practically ruined the Hickory Dickory Dock clock factory implying a pest problem and rumors that purchasers of said clocks would have their homes overrun with pests.
Ms. Goose, shame on you! It is tough enough in this world being a woman scientist without having to defend myself because of the shoddy journalistic work of a fraud! You need to reevaluate your work and take a year to apologize to the likes of the Cobbler, Cushy cow Bonnie, Humpty-Dumpty and all the king’s horses and men who simply did their best, Old King Cole (who was not a marijuana smoker), Little Boy Blue, and Old Mother Hubbard, just to name a scant few! I shall not hold my breath waiting because I doubt you have the decency to even see the wrong in what you are doing, but at least I’ve said what was needed to be said. Thank you.
Bridget D. Muffet, PhD.
Dept. Chair, Arachnology
Univ. of Tennessee
(P.S. Old Mother Hubbard finally snapped after a third reading Goose’s poem about her, and is currently undergoing shock therapy at the University of Colorado.)