lets go save the poor poor steajks,.
It’s a legendary family story. When Grandma and Grandpa Neal traveled to Ireland in the ’70s, they decided to take a carriage ride. As the grizzled Irish driver was struggling to help my grandmother — a portly woman — into the carriage, he muttered: “You’re beef to the heels like a Mullingar heifer!”
Grandma, who had a wonderful sense of humor, thought it was one of the funniest comments ever — so of course we grandkids did, too. But the driver’s jibe had an air of mystery and an almost lyrical quality that stuck with me. A heifer was a cow, or course, but what, precisely, was a Mullingar heifer?
In those days, it would have taken forever to find out. I suppose I could have gone to the reference section of the library, spoken to a severe-looking woman who probably would have been suspicious of my purported interest…
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