Misled since Infancy

Nursery rhymes are a sham.

I know, I know – it’s not every day that a blogger comes out and attacks the big picture issues, but I’m willing to do it in the name of a greater good. I know that most people have had to focus their word counts towards things like Supreme Court nominations, the NBA’s new required dress code, and the 23rd hurricane of the year, but does anyone out there realize the source of all our problems. Yep, those silly little songs you sang as a kid.

I am as much of an optimist as the next guy (assuming the next guy is also an optimist), but let’s face it: living in DC does not come easy these days. For reasons unbeknownst to even most finance professors, cost of living is through the roof in Beltwayland. People take out mortgages they have no right being able to afford, gas prices soar like they came off the bat of Albert Pujols, and even freakin’ Panera Bread has upped their prices on a Pick-Two to over seven dollars. Even the Coinstar machine seems to be too rich for my blood these days.

Well guess what, kids? The source of our collective unpreparedness for rising expenses? Nursery rhymes. The nonsense that was drilled in your head when you were 2 no longer holds true anymore. And YAB is going to show you what we mean.

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe // She had so many children, she didn’t know what to do.

-- Do you have any idea how much a nice two-story shoehouse goes for in Tyson’s these days? Asking price is 600k. Hey lady, I know what you should do. Sell your shoe for a sick profit and move out to a boot in Warrenton. Don’t worry about the commute, either. You’ve got more than enough passengers to qualify for HOV.

Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye // Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.

-- No one sings about their money, because then the coffee bars know you are holding out on them. Replace “sixpence” with “Starbucks” and “blackbirds” with “pennies” and “baked in a pie” with “double decaf skim milk venti pumpkin spice latte”. I think I broke this rhyme’s metre. Now you know why coffee is so expensive. (Sidenote: who puts bread in their pocket?)

To market, to market to buy a fresh pig // Home again, home again, jiggety jig. // To market, to market to buy a fresh hog // Home again, home again, jiggety jog.

-- Look, home again isn’t exactly that easy. Let us assume that the pig store is inside the Beltway. I guarantee you will not be up for a jig after sitting for 40 minutes on I-66W to go 3 miles while two lanes are shut down to paint the outside of the Metro. Similarly, the hog store is really a specialty vendor in the city itself. Home again is not in your near future – carrying a hog down a metro escalator will slow you down just enough to miss that Orange Line train out to VA, and the next one’s not for another 16 minutes. (Postcript: “jiggety jog”? Who wrote this crap? L.F.O.?

This little piggy went to market // This little piggy stayed home //This little piggy had roast beef // This little piggy had none // And this little piggy cried "Wee, wee, wee." All the way home.

-- Renting doesn’t exactly come cheap for a bunch of unmarried, single roommates. Everyone has to work. So the big toe goes to market, he pulls down a paycheck, puts food on the table, pays his taxes, does all that a good toe can do. Toe #2 stays home?!? And what, watches as Big toe takes a second job to support his lazy ways? And it gets worse. How does Toe #3 eat roast beef, when there’s no indication that he’s gainfully employed either. Toe #4 can be admired for not eating the hard-earned food of the Big Toe, rather that fasting, could it hurt to maybe clean up around the place? And as for what Toe #5 contributes, well. I think we know who’s at fault when the other residents start complaining to the leasing office.