Strange how seemingly unrelated nodes in the unfathomable fabric of space and time do connect, after all. Let me elaborate: upon seeing us trying to dodge a chore we had been assigned, my grandma used to say, in her very own sardonic, surrealist and often cryptic way (usually preceding engagement in some sort of light, almost laughable -almost- physical punishment):
“Let all the work for the Romans, for their chest is made of brass!”.
(Peplums still were all the rage back then, of course. And she was glorious.)
Strange how seemingly unrelated nodes in the unfathomable fabric of space and time do connect, after all. Let me elaborate: upon seeing us trying to dodge a chore we had been assigned, my grandma used to say, in her very own sardonic, surrealist and often cryptic way (usually preceding engagement in some sort of light, almost laughable -almost- physical punishment):
“Let all the work for the Romans, for their chest is made of brass!”.
(Peplums still were all the rage back then, of course. And she was glorious.)