Speaking of parents, about which this essay is not, I am one. Reckoning purely by the decibel level of their formative years, I would estimate I have raised several thousand children, and dedicated funds upward of twenty or thirty dollars doing so. I have learned a thing or two, both being that kids like to be told stories. It relieves stress. I enjoy it too, but the kids are grown, scattered across the world now and...excuse me, I have confused myself. A stress trigger. Recovery requires I arrange myself in a semi-circle and tell myself a story. You may join me, please.
Once upon a time, in an almost perfect kingdom situated along the river Avon (from which astronomers derive the term, nova, through reflector telescopes that reverse everything) that was so fragrant that representatives sold its waters door to door, there were only two social classes, king and rabble.
As a result, fields fell fallow, larders fell low on lard and sculleries clogged with skulls. So the king, weary of being an oft-beheaded indecipherable figure of authority, sent out a proclamation to be read not merely nearly and narrowly but far and wide as well. Here is its entire text: "HELP!"
In response, there came a great knocking at the great knocker on the main gate under the bailey arch. This refers to a great grated gate giving onto the bailey, a courtyard within walls of a castle, named for Barnum and Bailey who invented a way of building one every minute. In reply to official castle protocol of demanding "WHAT?" of every great knocker knocking came the question, "Need a lawyer?"
The lawyer was admitted and, after exchange of greetings and solicitations with greeters and solicitors, settled into advising the much-beheaded king, and said, "You guys need a new mode of social interaction in this town."
"What do you suggest?" Asked the king. And by this time all the rebels had their ears pressed to the door.
"Defenestration!" Shouted the lawyer, so all eavesdropping beheadables could hear but he was quite a shouty fellow anyway.
"Eeeewww!" Cried the king and all the rebels, "sounds horrible and I bet it hurts!"
"Oh indeed," said the lawyer. "It means getting thrown out the window, probably into the river!"
So they gave it a try and the king, who had never bathed in his life, went first. The rebels were much amazed by his bravery and set themselves to babbling about how nice the king looked all washed up. Then they experimented with defenestrating each other and babbled about how refreshed they felt.
At which point, the lawyer, who was also a trained shouty societal semanticist, shouted, "RABBLEBABBLE!!!"
The rebels took up this shouty shout and repeated it and repeatedly defenestrated themselves until they forgot the word, rebel, entirely. They lolled upon the river bank and sighed, "Ah rabble, rabblebabble, clean rabblebabble too poopoopadoop!"
"Rabble that's had a bath!" Sighed the king, who retained the lawyer in perpetuity and lived rabbley ever after.
Which is how the town of Bath got its name.