I heard someone on the radio say "She is more of a Mother Goose than a spring chicken." I even wrote it down so I would remember it. That got me thinking about spring chickens.
I remember watching Peggy Lee on Ed Sullivan. My dad had the hots for her and my mother would call her "your girlfriend". He would disparage Ms. Lee and say she was no spring chicken. Lately he has told me I'm no spring chicken either.
Well, I'm not. For about 5 years I was Mother Goose, though. Since going to dances I realize I am not a pretty peacock (though the showy ones are male).
I used to collect swan images because they have the mythology of being very discerning. Supposedly they can separate milk from water and only drink the milk. Given reflection, that is crazy. Swans don't drink milk at all.
Each year at the State Fair I love seeing the fancy chickens. They are the ones with gorgeous feathers of every hue. Some of the black ones are irridescent and some are speckled, some have topknots and all are beautiful. I love the ones with bootlike feathers around their feet.
So no, I am not a spring chicken and not Mother Goose. I am not a peacock or a swan. I am more like a plump hen with beautiful feathers. You can hold me and pet me and I will hardly ever bite.
(Just a note, I do not have a tiny brain, beady eyes or lice; nor do I peck around in the dirt.)
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