A mother's load is weighty though she live until she's eighty.

So said Churchy LaFemme when Howland exclaimed he'd struck the motherlode.  Walt Kelly, one of the twentieth century's immortals, is especially cogent on the subject of malarkey, and there's a lot of malarkey out there.

I was reading this post from Mama Lou and the Walt kelly thing came back to mind.  My own mother is a brilliant woman; her limits are her prejudices and her data.  That mind, turned loose on insufficient data, comes up with some very strange stuff sometimes.

When I began dating, it was not long before she informed me that she was glad we were not having sex.

"Oh?"

"Yes, I can always tell.  A woman's hips change, she holds them differently; I can tell by looking that she hasn't been having sex."

 "I see."

I hadn't the heart to disabuse her, and it was very much to my advantage, but it was one of those mother moments I always treasure.  Thinking of you, Mom.  Long may you wave.