An imbalance of bodily humours, perhaps caused by a toad or a small dwarf living in her stomach.

I am currently reading A Clash of Kings, the second book in the Song of Ice and Fire series. I’m loving it, of course. I loved A Game of Thrones, and I’m loving this one just as much – maybe even a little more, because there’s a little less getting-to-know-you awkwardness. There are a few new characters, but you’re also revisiting the old characters, and I know them, so it’s like meeting up with old friends. It’s extremely enjoyable and I don’t want to do anything but read. That’s not all that different from normal – I’d honestly usually rather read than most anything – but when the book’s good, I definitely have problems concentrating on other things. 

I was thinking while I was reading – it’s set in an alternate world, Westeros, but it seems to be set in what’s comparable to our medieval times. People tend to romanticize medieval times, and there are people who think they lived previous lives and whenever you hear them talk about the past lives they supposedly lived in medieval times, they were always a pretty pretty princess. Which is very hard for me to believe because listen, there were a lot of commoners. Like, a LOT. I can’t believe every one of us walking around today has a soul that was once a medieval princess in a medieval tower or something. Because that would kind of be statistically impossible, right? So let’s just assume, because I am practical, if I had lived in medieval times, I would be the equivalent of what I am now, which is kind of a poor person. But probably totally still awesome, I mean, that wouldn’t change. Awesomeness of this magnitude crosses many generations. 

As much as I enjoy reading about medieval times, they don’t tend, in these books, to concentrate on the commoners. Because that would be one boring and depressing-ass book. Commoners did not live lives filled with excitement and mystery back then. Also, today I did some research, and I could never, never have survived in medieval times for the following disturbing and disgusting reasons. 

WE DON’T NEED NO EDUCATION 

Common women were ignored in the educational process. This should surprise no one, as it’s only a somewhat recent development that women were even allowed to go on for higher education. But in medieval times, women weren’t educated. At all. There weren’t a ton of books to be read, which I guess was good? Because I wouldn’t have been able to read them. Due to not being able to get an education. 

HOW ABOUT A COUPLE OF TOTALLY SEXY KIRTLES? 

Medieval women wore a shirt, then a kirtle - a long tunic that hung to their ankles – and then another shorter kirtle over the longer kirtle. Then you put your hair up – you had long, long hair, which would totally not annoy me in the least bit and make me want to shave my head bald – into an intricate bun, or left it down, or braided it up tight, and wore a tight cap or a veil over that. So you were kind of all swaddled up and long-haired and wearing what, kind of a nightie? A series of nighties? All the time? This seems like a distressing outfit to be walking around in and completely uncomfortable. You see in movies people looking all sexy and laced up and such with mighty fine cleavage but that seems like it wouldn’t be the case what with these seemingly endless layers of kirtles. 

Two things related to kirtles. One, I was in a play a couple of years ago when I had to wear a kirtle-like contraption, and do you know how many times I tripped over the damn thing? 4. IT WAS SO LONG YOU GUYS AND I AM CLUMSY. Also I looked like a nun, a weird cranky nun. Nothing about it was appealing. Second, I just want to add that in searching for information about kirtles I found a number of places that STILL SELL KIRTLES. I assume these are for medieval reinactors? Or plays? Or maybe if you want to be totally stylish at your office picnic, I don’t know. 

THE SMELL PROBABLY WOULD BE ENOUGH TO KILL YOU DEAD 47 TIMES OVER 

So here’s the thing. To take baths, you had to be a rich person. Because to heat the water, you had to be able to afford firewood. And firewood apparently was scarce. Also fires were a serious concern. So one website I read said that by the mid-1300s only the very wealthy could afford to bathe in the winter. Now, listen. This is the most upsetting thing to me. Last night I took the longest, most luxurious hot shower known to man. It was delightful. I was chilly, because it’s fall here, and I’m catching a cold, so I’m a little chilled and achy. And it was just like a big old warm hug. Also, can you just imagine how badly everyone must have smelled. Apparently in the summer, people collected rainwater and bathed in a family barrel. Well, that’s not at all restful or relaxing or gross. No, thanks, medieval times. 

ALL THE BARTERING 

I can’t barter, you guys. Totally can’t. If there’s not a price on something I want at a street fair or whatever, I convince myself I don’t need it because I can’t even mentally imagine the nightmare that bartering would be. I would haggle the wrong way. They’d tell me $20 and I’d say no, how about $25. Bartering was how they bought EVERYTHING in medieval times. I would have starved to death in my stinky kirtle. 

EVERYONE WAS ALL UP IN YOUR BIDNESS 

If you were born somewhere, you lived and died there. You knew everyone there, you married someone there, you raised your kids there, you farmed there, and I’m sure everyone would talk about you if your second kirtle was too short or if you weren’t keeping your husband’s clothing clean enough or if you spoke too loudly at the Winter Festival and you would never live that shit down. I would die in a small town. I grew up in one and I moved out the minute I was able. Everyone knowing my business gives me the hives. I like my relative anonymity. Also, if I had to marry someone I’ve known since childhood, I’d probably throw myself down a well. You don’t even know the winners I grew up with. None of them were potential mates, I can tell you that right now. 

YUM, MORE POTTAGE PLEASE, EXTRA SCURVY 

The most basic bread was rye. Well, I hate rye bread, so that wouldn’t work for me so much. They put honey in their water to sweeten it. That’s confusing and kind of gross, wouldn’t the honey just sink to the bottom? There was very little protein, and when they could, they added peas and beans to their bread (what?) or pottage (don’t know what that is? I didn’t either. It’s a thick stew of boiled vegetables and grains. I guess that’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard of but it doesn’t sound the most delicious. Also, onions and garlic were almost always in it. YOU CAN’T BATHE SO LAY OFF THE ONIONS AND GARLIC, MEDIEVAL FOLKS.) Also, the diets were lacking in Vitamin C. You know what that means! Scurvy. Arr! 

THEDORIC OF YORK WAS PRETTY ON-TARGET 

Doctors (or barbers, same, really) thought pixies and trolls were real. That their health was controlled by the stars. If you were sick, you had been cursed by God. There was bleeding, and leeches, and humours. If medicine didn’t work (sorry, “medicine”, it was usually a poultice of some sort, or cupping, or something), they’d get a priest in to exorcise your demons. Also? Black Death & leprosy. All the fun was being had in medieval times! 

YOU BELONG TO ME 

Women in medieval times? Property. Marriages among the lower classes were a business transaction and the participants had no say in the matter. So in other words, my father would have picked out my beau. Now, listen. I love my father. A great deal. But who he thinks would be a good match for me and who actually WOULD be a good match for me are two very different people.  I absolutely shudder to think who he’d choose. Passion was considered sinful in a marriage. Well! That would certainly be a fun, loveless, and passionless marriage, with nothing to take up your time but waiting to die. The job of women in medieval times was to stay home, bear children so the husband had fieldhands, make food (and strangely enough, brew the beer? This was a woman’s job. I’m pretty sure some arsenic would have found its way into that beer) and keep quiet. 

BATHROOMS - ??? 

You would think the websites I was checking would talk more about the bathroom situation. I mean, I know there wasn’t indoor plumbing. Was it so disturbing they couldn’t talk about it? I mean, I’m disturbed just thinking about it but I wanted some internet research backup so I could reinforce my belief that the medieval bathroom situation would just about kill me dead. OK, further disgusting research led me to chamber pots. Kill me dead now please. 

VERMIN VERMIN WHO’S GOT THE VERMIN 

Oh, you do. You totally do. You’ve got rats and mice and body AND hair lice. Isn’t that spiffy? I mean, you’re not bathing, so of course you’re filthy and covered in tiny arachnids. I’m itching right now, Middle Ages, I hope you’re pleased with yourself. I also can only assume there were crabs running amok. And I don’t mean the delicious ocean type. 

If you were a pretty pretty princess, none of the above holds true for you. You lived a charmed life in your pretty castle and all was well and birds probably landed on your damn hand chirping away, I don’t know, whatever, and knights jousted for your honor and you got to wear pretty dresses and jewels and such. And since everyone who’s ever done a past-life regression ever was totally a princess, well, bully for you all.  

I would have been a miserable stompy smelly kirtled peasant with a demanding husband and too many kids and they probably would be bleeding me every third day for bad humours. 

No, thanks. I’ll take now, please. Perfectly happy with it. Very few complaints. Shower – check. Flushing toilet – check. Education – check. Ability to speak my mind – check, check, check. 

Although if medieval-me got to be with Tyrion Lannister…well, all bets might be off.

Google search results for "rode hard, put away wet" make me need a Silkwood shower.

I love language. Irrationally, actually. There's nothing that I like more than discovering new slang, or a new turn of phrase, or a word that I didn't know existed, or making a word out of two other words. I find the English language a beautiful, beautiful thing.

I try to be precise with it. I mean, sure, I slang it up. Who doesn't? You don't want to sound like a robot-person, or a person who still calls the fridge the icebox. I also love to add "y" to the end of things where it doesn't belong, like "cringey" and "stabby" because it entertains me, and you can do that, with English. It is a very generous and giving language, overall. I can see how it would be hard for non-English speakers to learn, though. People who grew up with the language still have problems with it, and they've never spoken anything else. We don't make it easy on others. It's our can-do pioneer attitude. We have the hardest language! We are a super-cool impenetrable club!

I read a lot, so a lot of words I only recognize on the page, and have no idea how to pronounce in real-life situations. (I love that the dictionary online pronounced words for you. I made it repeat the word "kudzu" over and over when I was reading a Poppy Z. Brite book a few years back because the word was like carbonation against your eardrum. So peppy and poppy and fizzy!) I also am old, and, despite how I come across, somewhat naive in the millions of ways people can be pervy, so often, double-entendres get lost on me. (Last week, I had no idea what I was implying when I said someone could "take me anywhere, because I would be the most fun to take anywhere." I wasn't thinking of the "take me, take me now" definition. I know. I need to get out of the petticoat generation, already.)

Last weekend, I was visiting family, and we were getting ready to go somewhere. I hadn't yet prepared to leave the house - it wasn't that long ago I had been awakened by the dulcet tones of The Nephew screaming to the top of his adorable little lungs at 6 a.m. - so I said, and I quote, "Give me a few minutes to get ready. I can't go anywhere like this. I look like I've been rode hard and put away wet right now."

Dead silence from the people (my brother, his girlfriend, my father) in the room.

The following conversation ensued:

Brother: Amy, you can't say that.

Me: What? Why?

Brother: Because that's about whores.

Me: What? No. HORSES.

GF: No. He's right. Whores.

Father: Yes. Whores. How do you not know that? You always know these things.

Me: No, horses. And also if you look like you're jacked up and need to get prettied.

Brother: No. Whores. You know, they were RODE HARD. Then PUT AWAY WET.

Me: Oh. Um. Um - I. No, I think horses? Because when people call the vet clinic when I'm working at the answering service, sometimes they talk about problems with their horses, and one of them I'm pretty sure has to do with not drying off your horse correctly.

GF: This is the best conversation ever. I love this.

Brother: Whores are RODE HARD. Then they are WET.

Me: Yeah, if you are perverted.

Father: Or normal.

Me: HORSES.

(Note - I am not sure how to take my father saying "I always know about these things." I hope he meant idiomatic phrases and the joys of the English language and not whore lingo. WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THIS DADDY.)

After this, I was a little distressed. I mean, I don't use this phrase on a regular basis - it's not something I say as often as "Nice day, right?" or "Someone took all the goddamned letterhead out of the copier AGAIN? Are they building a FORT with that stuff? What the HELL?" but I've said it on a number of occasions. Did everyone I was ever saying this to think I was calling myself a whore? Did they laugh about this behind my back, that I wasn't aware of the genesis of this idiom? Was this about whores? If so, why did people in cowboy novels use it to refer to their horses, and then why did crappy gossip blogs use it to talk about oh, I don't know, Courtney Love? (Sorry, Courtney. I still adore you, Courtney.)

So, as I do, I did research, and then a very scientific poll. I know! I really should open up some sort of super-sexy serious research facility.

And this time, I made a PIE CHART. I come bearing PROFESSIONAL GRAPHICS. From a FREE WEBSITE THAT MAKES THESE THINGS. (I am fairly sure no one ever typed "whores" into the free site. It kept asking me if that was spelled right.)

Responses to "What's the first thing you think of when you hear the phrase 'rode hard, put away wet'?"

OK, so let's analyze these responses. As you can see, the majority of people (not by much, but still) think horses. Not WHORES. Horses. This made me feel better.

Some interesting things I learned while doing this very scientific poll:

• The "your mom" person made me laugh so hard I spit-took diet lemonade.
• My book club was mostly horse people. My theater cast and crew was mostly whore people. Do what you will with that.
• One person told me I should, in the interest of science, put an ad on Craig's List for responses. I don't think anything I put on Craig's List about "riding" or "wet" would end well. I opted no on that one.
• I was not comfortable asking this on my Facebook page. I think because my Facebook people would not respect my very scientific endeavors. Twitter people are more scientific; Facebook people are more "I used Status Shuffle because I can't come up with a status on my own." Also my theater people were a captive audience - I'm their assistant director, what are they going to do, tell me to shut it? I could make them run laps for that. OK, not laps. The theatrical equivalent of laps. I could make them play theater games for that, like improv or mirror exercises.

The best response I got was from a very educated man I work with at the theater. He's one of those quiet and gruff people that nonetheless have complete and total authority when they speak. "It's from cowboy slang," he said. "It may have been recently bastardized to refer to something sexual, but originally, it referred to how it was unhealthy to ride a horse and then not cool it and dry it off before putting it in for the night."

Suck it, haters! It is NOT ONLY ABOUT WHORES. I also did research using my BFF, Google, who agrees with me - yes, sure, it now is used (as I did) to refer to someone who looks like they had a tough night of it and needs some freshening-up time, but originally it was used to refer to HORSES. Not WHORES. Not EXCLUSIVELY WHORES.

What we learned from this is that I have a metric shit-ton of free time on my hands and don't like my usage of the English language challenged.

Horses. HORSES. And Tara Reid that time her boob popped out and she didn't realize it.