'Never smile at a crocodile'
2009-05-19 11:20
David Moseley
In Disney's animated version of Peter Pan, the Never Never Land brats sing-a-long gleefully "never smile at a crocodile".
I'm not entirely sure whether Walt was imparting life skills for his young audience or whether the Lost Boys were simply taunting poor Captain Hook about losing the hand he used to pick his nose.
But if I had to hazard a guess (and I am) I would say that the song has something to do with trust - or at the very least, avoiding the kind of bad decisions that lead to limb dismemberment when viewing large and untamed wildlife.
Presumably, if you're smiling at a crocodile, which is obviously what Captain Hook was doing at the time of said limb loss, instead of stabbing it ferociously in the eye, then you're getting too close to something that you have no business making cordial eye-contact with in the first place.
This is sound life advice from Walt and his crew, but perhaps it should be updated to a more contemporary setting with a more adult theme.
Had the dreaded Captain survived, I would have advised him to not only treat large, possibly mutated cartoon reptiles with a healthy dose of distrust, but also any man who drinks cider (and especially lite cider).
Making judgements
It is, I'll admit, awfully rude to instantly judge a man, as so many of us do, by his looks, by his limp handshake or by the cut of his jib.
But it is perfectly acceptable to make snap judgements on the personality of a man should you find one drinking the fruity flavours of a fermented apple.
Just this weekend I was sitting at a bar with a gentleman I'd recently met, enjoying a draught, as real men do. Another chap joined us at the table and brought with him his delicate Savannah Lite.
I glanced at my fellow beer chugger, slapping him on the back in a manly fashion with just a deft roll of my eyes, to see what he thought of the situation. Needless to say, his head was subtly shaking from side to side in a damning and knowing fashion. Judgement delivered.
We welcomed him politely to the table, but we didn't bother asking whether he fancied the Bulls or the Sharks for a semifinal spot.
You know what you get with most drinkers. A beer man is solid through and through. We build emergency runways for crash-landing light aircraft in the rain. We erect electricity pylons in the blazing sun, and then reflect on a days impressive work rate by downing cases of wheaty quarts.
Wine drinkers, though sometimes pompous asses, are cultured individuals who make pithy comments about life (and grapes) around the dinner table. They may prattle on dully about their "collection", but at least they'll point out a stunning Cab to pair with your medium rare Chateaubriand.
Even G&T drinkers are perfectly acceptable drinking company. They may belong to a bygone era, when servants prepared the morning oats and the afternoon libations, and hunting expeditions consisted of well-heeled men named Charles genteelly firing off a few rounds at the dozing buck from a cushy veranda, but at least you know what you're getting.
Consistency, that's all you ask for really.
Drink pink
Cider drinkers? Well, they're just odd. They're the late-night SMSers of your girlfriend, hoping against hope that they still have a chance.
They're the fools who pull in front of you in the traffic, only to slow down and dawdle from A to B. They don't have braais on rooftops in New York dreaming longingly of the rains down in Africa. They drink pink. They can't be trusted.
Alternatively, never smile at a crocodile. No, you can't get friendly with a crocodile. Don't be taken in by his welcome grin. He's imagining how well you'd fit within his skin. Same goes for cider drinkers.
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