Once upon a time, in the small, rain-slicked town of Puddling Parva, there was a word that no one could explain: .
Old Mr. Pettle, who hadn’t spoken a voluntary sentence in eleven years, looked out his window at the rain and said, “The clouds bobdule today.” And indeed, they did seem to drift with a peculiar, gentle, side-to-side wobble, as if the sky were rocking a cradle. bobdule
By Wednesday, the word had spread. Mr. Hix, the clockmaker, told a customer that his antique pendulum would “bobdule more smoothly after a drop of oil.” The postman, delivering letters, muttered that his satchel strap needed to bobdule across his shoulder. Children on the playground started playing a game called Bobdule-Ball, though none could agree on the rules. It seemed to involve wobbling and humming at the same time. Once upon a time, in the small, rain-slicked
And from that day on, whenever anyone in Puddling Parva felt rushed, or sharp, or too certain, they would stop and say, “Let it bobdule a bit.” By Wednesday, the word had spread