Today, I am relating on a deeply personal level to this round that a children’s choir for which I accompany sings…
Here is a line-by-line analysis in which I will dutifully compare the elements of this song to myself.
There was an old witch of Willowby Wood
Witch? Probably. Old? Debatable. Willowby Wood? Columbia, Missouri.
…and a weird, wild witch was she.
Weird – check. Wild? Yes, I’m a regular rebel. Sometimes I stay out as late as 10:30 on a weeknight…
…with hair that was snarled and hands that were gnarled
My hands are actually quite wonderful. They’re small, surely. I can still barely reach a ninth and have given up all hope that I will ever be able to stretch further. They are not gnarled, as I’m a hand-lotion fiend (the number of lotion bottles in my life are almost as numerous as the number of chapsticks I keep around).
As for the hair, here is what I looked like last night…
I guess you could say this is snarly. It’s something, all right. Here was the final, more acceptable result in which a photographer acquaintance of mine made me look less like a crazy person and more like a stone cold Disney witch.
Sorry, Audrey Hepburn. I have failed you.
…and a kickety, rickety knee.
Kickety…not so much. I haven’t done a squat, lunch, or kick in about six months. So yes, my knees are superbly rickety. Thanks for bringing it up.
…she could jump to the moon and back, but this I never did see.
See the aforementioned note on the condition of my knees. An overabundance of jump squats and jump lunges in my life have left me barely capable of walking, let alone jumping to the moon. So I guess that confirms that you, in fact, won’t ever see that.
That’s all I got today. I feel like a witch. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.