Mojo, The Bard, & Me

 

I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner:

I from my mistress come to you in post;

If I return, I shall be post indeed,

For she will score your fault upon my pate.

Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock,

And strike you home without a messenger.

-Dromio of Ephesus

The Comedy of Errors           Act I, Scene II, Line 62

First things first. In case you hadn’t figured it out simply by context, maw is belly or throat; in this case more like belly. In modern parlance it’s mouth/throat, but not that far off from the sixteenth century meaning. I could get into a lengthy discussion of reading and understanding Shakespeare, but I think I’ll save that for another day. I believe I can hear that collective sigh of relief.

The part I really like about this passage is Dromio’s comment about one’s stomach being the meal clock. I know mine is, and everyone who knows me well knows that mine is. My daughters have told me that when they travel with me they make sure to carry a granola bar or something like that just in case I start to Hulk out on them. I guess my stomach clock doesn’t strike me home, it’s just rigged to an explosive device that’s ready to go off on the spot.

 

Here I am with the girls visiting San Francisco a few years ago (I'm the one taking the picture). So, which one has the granola bar? I'm guessing Jess. She could have a three course meal in the pockets of that jacket she's holding.