In the spring, a man's fancy lightly turns to wordplay.
Suddenly it’s May, and May seems everywhere. Or it May seem everywhere to a man or a Mayd who May be aMayzed at the possibilities.
May one Mayke such an observation without being considered contuMaycious?
Please don’t say no, say Maybe, as the songwriter May have said long ago. Does everything have to be gerMayne to the unrest in the world?
Hearing no Mayjor objections, I Mayntain that no other month reMayns echoing so Mayjestically in the public ear, all the way from Mayne to RoMaynia. It is a month that leaves one undisMayed, if one May say so.
“But yes,” as Maurice Chevalier used to chuckle, translating his native “May oui” for Americans whose French stops with “Maytre d’,” though they May have sung “DorMay vous?” in school.
The aniMayted child interrupts: “Put in, ‘If April showers bring May flowers, what do May flowers bring? Pilgrims!’ ”
Not exactly a puzzle worthy of Simenon’s Inspector Maygret, but not bad when delivered by a small feMayle priMayte with an uneMayciated grin as wide as Maynland China.
Meanwhile, it’s not too early to be thinking about June, which will soon be bustin’ out all over, recalled in a jeJune comment by a Juneior member of the household.