Ostomy Memories of Tapioca Pudding

There are normal days, such as Thursday, and then there are special Days, like Independence Day. Most of us celebrate the latter on July 4th, though there are an intransigent few who persist in thinking of it as when they got divorced, or when they graduated from school. What is really shameful, however, is what the faceless authorities have done to some of our Days. Presidents Day, for instance, which originated as Washington’s Birthday (February 22nd) was later changed to its current date, the 3rd Monday in February, so that it would commemorate both Washington’s birthday and that of Abraham Lincoln, born on February 12th. In fact, it was just another excuse to create a three-day weekend.
Then there is Christopher Columbus. His Day used to be October 12th. But then in 1971 some bureaucrats succeeded in getting it changed to the amorphous “second Monday in October” so that, once again, they could get an extra three-day weekend. Since then, having discovered that Columbus turned out to be a genocidal slaver, some states have repurposed this as Indigenous Peoples Day or Native Americans Day.
But then there’s this: a few months ago, I had myself a nice big bowl of tapioca pudding to commemorate National Tapioca Pudding Day on July 15th, only to subsequently discover that some people seem to think it was back on June 28th. Well, I’m sorry, it’s July 15th!! June 28th is National Tapioca Day, which is obviously different.
Tapioca Pudding day is sacrosanct. We’re dealing with one of the major sub- food groups here. I know, I know… some people are said to actually not like tapioca pudding. I find that beyond comprehension. Well, you people can go sit in the corner with some runny rice pudding or some artificially colored butterscotch stuff, if that’s your preference. All the more tapioca pudding for those of us with good taste.
I say… if we’re going to be playing around with our sacred National Days, let’s change National Tapioca Pudding Day to National Tapioca Pudding Week! Ah, I would lay in a good supply, get out one of my best spoons, and to hell with Washington, Lincoln, Columbus, and you vanilla pudding eaters.

We used to call it fish eyes.

Hello HenryM.

Well! it did not take you long to find a subject that I have not written any rhymes about and here is the probable reason why: 

When I was in the infant's school, they used to serve up tapioca pudding regularly. They also used to provide free school milk (until 'Thatcher the milk snatcher ' decided that it was too expensive for the richest taxpayers to subsidise). Any milk left over was subsequently put into the tapioca pudding so that it was not wasted. Unfortunately, the milk was often left outside in the sunshine and was probably turning sour by the time it was used in the cooking process. Now, at that time, (and forever after,) I was very sensitive to any food that was in the least bit 'dodgy' so, even before I tasted it, the smell of the tapioca made me violently sick and I was sent home for the rest of the day. By the next day, I was fit and well but the rest of the school had gone down with food-poisoning. From that day to this, I cannot stomach even the thought of milk, let alone tapioca pudding. 

It shows how the experiences of the child can have a profound effect upon the adult.

Best wishes

Bill