Usually, a “Fact of the Day” text message will merely cause me to remark, “Hmm,” or “That’s interesting,” or “That’s too stupid to even qualify as a FACT,” or “HOW MANY TIMES AM I GOING TO RECEIVE THE SAME MUSHROOM-COLLECTING TIP!” But one day last week I actually received a “Fact of the Day” message that left me exclaiming, “And then what????” It is the very first cliffhanger “Fact” I’ve received. Here ’tis:

An old folk custom for selecting a husband from several suitors involved taking onions and writing each suitor’s name individually on each.

And then? AND?? Why ONIONS???? WHAT DO YOU DO WITH THE ONIONS????? I do not like this. I know that my cellular phone provider is not going to resolve this question. I PAY for these “facts,” and don’t think that I should have to spend my valuable time (I know, I know, but please don’t crush my little fantasy world) Googling and doing other very scientific research to find the answer. Not going to do it. I think I shall just open this up to the vast knowledge out there in cyberspace and have my readers contribute possible solutions (I know that puts quite a bit of pressure on the three or four of you, but, after all, you are a bunch of smarty pants).

While you ponder the abovementioned query, perhaps you might also consider these great mysteries:

  • Why, when I emptied its pockets to launder my jeans jacket did I find a little pile of Canadian money? I should tell you that I’ve never TAKEN that jacket to Canada; in fact, I don’t think I owned it the last time I went to Canada. Besides, since it was February of last year I wouldn’t have considered wearing something not made of wool or down or a super-scientific high-tech fabric of considerable warmth. In other words, IT WAS VERY, VERY COLD.
  • Why do spiders get in my bed????? That violates the arachnid code of any abode in which I choose to reside. My bedroom is sanctified, NON-SPIDERY space. And it’s one thing if they try to hide in laundry that I’ve left on the floor for a long time or in a far corner on the ceiling; this is an infringement of the rules, but NOT the egregious and unforgivable infraction aforementioned. Getting in the bed is conceited FLOUTING of the arachnid code. I am not a violent person, but such a violation results in an immediate death sentence. And the very suspiciously-poisonous looking specimen hanging from the canopy right above my head last night – the freakin’ HUGE specimen, I might add – didn’t even get the swift and merciful squishing that a less smug, brash relative might have. I shook it into a plastic bag (eeeeeew), made sure the top of the bag was secure, shook the bag very thoroughly so the little beast would stay at the bottom (yuck!), sang the spider song – which is gloomy yet poignant- (always sung in a minor key: “Spider, Spider, Everywhere a Spider” and so on), and then I dumped it into the commode (recoiling shiver!!!), cursed it and FLUSHED IT TO THE SEWER UNDERWORLD (which I figure is not unlike the mythical river Styx, “The River of Hate!!!!!!” or one those other rivers around Hades). HAH! You’d think this would teach spiders to stay in NATURE like they just SHOULD!
  • Why am I just a little tiddly bit arachnophobic? Spiders are supposed to eat the flies and mosquitoes, but spiders or no spiders, I don’t think there would be much of a fly or mosquito problem IN MY BED. And spiders are filthy!!! Spider bites are notoriously, hideously dirty and easily infected. That’s just…ookey. And if you don’t believe me, I’ll tell you the story of the woman in my sister’s neighborhood who thought that the spider bite was no big deal and treated it herself with some sort of poultice. By the time she realized it really WAS a big deal she had gangrene and had to have her leg amputated. And then she DIED anyway. That is a true story.

Never mind that last one; I believe I have answered my OWN question.