03-09-2016, 12:56 AM
People are always asking me: "What is the origin of the crude query, "You're shitting me", so I'll just post the answer here. This historical revelation was told to me by a member of a seniors' Sierra hiking group I belonged to, in mixed company, so it has Sierra senior hiking cred. Â
We are all familiar with the story of Washington's epic crossing of the Potomac during the revolutionary war. Immortalized in a famous painting, George is shown standing at the helm of a small boat transporting a small force of freezing patriots. Conditions were brutal, and in the crossing, one of the able seamen, a " Benjamin Peters", fell overboard and was lost. The light fading, the boat crossed and banked on a forlorn stretch of beach.  Freezing, the crew spotted a lone cabin in the distance. Mooring, and taking to foot, the meager force slogged toward the building which showed a lantern light in the window.
On closer approach, it became apparent that the log building was in fact a brothel. To freeze, or risk asking for aid, was the choice. Washington, commander and chief, was chosen to approach the house of ill repute, to see if respite from the night might be secured. George made his way to the door, knocked, and the madam of the house opened the door. She, a patriot, at once recognized the would-be president of the nascent republic. Yes, of course, she agreed to house the company.Â
"How many?" she inquired, needed lodging.
George, thinking, counting for a moment, replied, "Well, that would be 13 . . . without Peters"
"You're shitting me," exclaimed the Madam.
We are all familiar with the story of Washington's epic crossing of the Potomac during the revolutionary war. Immortalized in a famous painting, George is shown standing at the helm of a small boat transporting a small force of freezing patriots. Conditions were brutal, and in the crossing, one of the able seamen, a " Benjamin Peters", fell overboard and was lost. The light fading, the boat crossed and banked on a forlorn stretch of beach.  Freezing, the crew spotted a lone cabin in the distance. Mooring, and taking to foot, the meager force slogged toward the building which showed a lantern light in the window.
On closer approach, it became apparent that the log building was in fact a brothel. To freeze, or risk asking for aid, was the choice. Washington, commander and chief, was chosen to approach the house of ill repute, to see if respite from the night might be secured. George made his way to the door, knocked, and the madam of the house opened the door. She, a patriot, at once recognized the would-be president of the nascent republic. Yes, of course, she agreed to house the company.Â
"How many?" she inquired, needed lodging.
George, thinking, counting for a moment, replied, "Well, that would be 13 . . . without Peters"
"You're shitting me," exclaimed the Madam.