Grown Up Nursery Rhymes

I was invited to a dinner party at Mary Mary Quite Contrary's cottage last night. She laid on her usual unappetizing buffet of vegetables grown in her garden, very heavy on the silver bells and cockleshells as you might expect. Frankly I find both ingredients completely inedible, and I don't think I'm the only one who feels that way.
Conversation around the table was a total disaster. Mary Mary disagreed with everything anyone said like she always does, and then Simple Simon insisted on repeating that extremely tedious tale about his encounter with a pie man for the umpteenth time. Dessert was a stodgy confection of curds and whey which Little Bo Peep had brought along. But I didn't eat mine because there was a hairy spider leg in it.
Mary Mary became especially contrary when it was suggested that she give the assembled company a tour of her garden. She complained that people only came to visit her because they wanted to leer at her pretty maids all in a row. Nevertheless, after a great deal of flattery, and being promised a free bag of my specialty 'ring o' roses' compost, she finally assented. Well, if you ask me, it must be a very bad year for growing pretty maids all in a row because this season's crop are terribly flat-chested. I was bitterly disappointed and spent the rest of the evening sat in a corner, sticking my thumb into various pies and winking suggestively at Lucy Lockett.

Comments

[Mia Wolff]

Mr Fez-are your co-workers aware of who you really are? Do you appear in the garb of your thoughts every day?
Down here in the wrought land of NYC you would just slide into the cacophony of Canal Street. I take it you walk the streets of Boston in mufti, no?

[stephenesque]

Yes, in mufti. But I like to think of it as Grand Mufti.