I’ve hated “made” since I was a bonny maid of 8. Me and my mate, Matt Maitland, made fun of “made” in school, till Ma warned me she’d make me meet my Maker if we maintained our course, mainly due to irritation.
Then there was the chambermaid. The dismayed maid made Matt Maitland make amends for having made the maid use main strength to make Maitland and me stay away from, or at least delay, our making fun of “made,” as it was making her brain fail and her patience quail, as well as Dr. Mays’ patients’ patience, which is much the same as the maid’s patience because the maid was Mays’ patient already. It made her too lazy to navigate the tazer-laden maze on her off days, though that was but a phase. She vowed she’d make us pay till the end of days.
Then my mate made the maid make ‘made’ sounds over and over again until that was all she could say; I’m afraid she developed aphasia from her dismay at our playing with “made.” Amazing, ain’t it? I’m ashamed.
Now she’s at rest under that tree: a maid in the shade.