I turned on the pillow with a little moan, and at this juncture Jeeves entered with the vital oolong. I clutched at it like a drowning man at a straw hat.
P. G. WodehouseRead
It was a nasty look. It made me feel as if I were something the dog had brought in and intended to bury later on, when he had time.
Interpretation
The quote expresses a feeling of being looked down upon, comparing it humorously to being treated like dirt by a dog.
In this whimsical quote by P. G. Wodehouse, the speaker reflects on an unpleasant gaze that evokes feelings of inferiority and disdain. The comparison to a dog considering something unworthy of keeping underscores the humor in the situation, revealing how sometimes our perceptions can be exaggerated in a light-hearted manner.
In practice
In a comedy show where the protagonist feels out of place among friends.
I turned on the pillow with a little moan, and at this juncture Jeeves entered with the vital oolong. I clutched at it like a drowning man at a straw hat.
While not exactly disgruntled, he was far from feeling gruntled. He spoke with a certain what-is-it in his voice, and I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.
She fitted into my biggest arm-chair as if it had been built round her by someone who knew they were wearing arm-chairs tight about the hips that season
Memories are like mulligatawny soup in a cheap restaurant. It is wiser not to stir them.
It was a confusion of ideas between him and one of the lions he was hunting in Kenya that had caused A. B. Spottsworth to make the obituary column. He thought the lion was dead, and the lion thought it wasn't.
It was one of those cases where you approve the broad, general principle of an idea but can't help being in a bit of a twitter at the prospect of putting it into practical effect. I explained this to Jeeves, and he said much the same thing had bothered Hamlet.
Anybody can be Pope; the proof of this is that I have become one.
I love deadlines. I like the whooshing noise they make as they go by.
Gentlemen, Chicolini here may talk like an idiot, and look like an idiot, but don't let that fool you: he really is an idiot. I implore you, send him back to his father and brothers, who are waiting for him with open arms in the penitentiary. I suggest that we give him ten years in Leavenworth, or eleven years in Twelveworth.
I don't know if it's good for baseball, but it sure beats the hell out of rooming with Phil Rizzuto!
I felt very much like a hooker who had just been told she was a lady of the evening.
I've got the brain of a four year old. I'll bet he was glad to be rid of it.
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