One morning during his constitutional Nash Ruddin happened upon a mailman bent against his truck bawling next to broken glass and a puddle of milk. “It’s no use crying over spilt milk, old chap,” said Nash as he leaned a shoulder on the truck. He took a pipe from his blazer and proceeded to tap it out.
“O-old Bessie! Suh-suh-someone cut her r-right open!” the milkman cried. Nash lit his pipe and in a cloud of blue smoke decided a paradigm change was in order and puffed, mixing his metaphors, “An unfortunate occurence, to be sure, old chap, but mop up them tears and you know how it goes, make omelettes from broken eggs. ”
“S-she was more than just a muh-muh-milk cow! I.. I loved her!” the milk man wailed. Nash shrugged. Nash pulled at his pipe. “Everything works out at the end,” said Nash who patted the poor man on his bald pate before continuing on to his constitutional, whistling merrily.