‘More fun with mispronounciation’
Yes, yes. I know that it’s really “mispronunciation”. I just wanted to mess with you a little. And to see if you (like me) are operating on less than all your mental cylinders.
See, it’s hard to focus on stuff like a Weekly Blog when it’s as gorgeous as it is here, both weather-wise and scenery-wise. Though having one of my stories published in an actual newspaper — the kind that uses actual ink and is sold on actual newsstands and lands ker-plunk on actual doorsteps — gave me a nice boost. Here’s the story in case you are not one of the East Hampton Star’s many discerning subscribers: it’s called House Guest Hall of Fame.
Speaking of house guests, it’s also been hard to focus because I’ve had my share of them lately. And, thank the Hospitality Gods, they were all good guests. First I had my Bridge Buddy Pajama Party. (No photos exist, thank the Embarrassment Gods, since we did get up to some negroni-fueled hijinks.) Then the Chocolate-Company-Owning Nephew and Niece with the Three Adorable Daughters paid a visit.
Then, after that, I got my yearly dose of Twentysomethingness when The Child’s besties came to stay. (They are also “besties” in that they are some of the best house guests ever to dirty a beach towel.)
And if that weren’t enough, The Championships, Wimbledon started yesterday. I cannot myself wield a racquet, but am absolutely obsessed with the major tournaments, and the grassy Big W is my absolute unmissable fave. I once woke at 5 AM every morning of a Fun Family Reunion so I could get my Fed Fix.
Anyway. All this yammering is to explain why, instead of coming up with a rare gem of an original observation or a ripping tale of my Ad Biz Days or even a nostalgic trip down Small-Town Midcentury-Modern Memory Lane, I am going to treat you to some more mispronounced words. (These are either ones I forgot to tell you about a couple of weeks ago — or ones that some of my clever and thoughtful readers sent in via the Comments.)
The piece I refer to, “Paging ‘Arry O’Nassis”, is about how people can mispronounce words if they’ve only seen them in print, and haven’t heard them said out loud. Almost everyone I know has some word they remember embarrassing themselves with, usually when called upon to read aloud in school. My mom’s was “de-pot” for “de-poh“. A Blogger Buddy (fancypaperblog) admitted mortification at getting “schooner” wrong.
Dear Friend Ruth wrote in to say that hers was “fatty-goo” for “fatigue”. She also reminded me of the time a local radio announcer asked his listeners to look out for “one lost cha-hoo-a-hoo-a dog”. (Go ahead; say it out loud.)
Which made me remember the time a good friend told the waitress at lunch that she would like the “quish” — with the “crude-ites” to start. (She was such a good friend that not only did I not correct her, I didn’t laugh. Or not out loud anyway.)
But the winning example is the one my Wine Guy told me when I was in his shop on the last leg of my weekly Summer Vector (dump-farmstand-postoffice-grocerystore-wineshop), which is the one time each week I get in my car because of the god-awful aforementioned traffic. I had picked out a nice case of mixed “ro-says” and was regaling him with “yar-mul-kee” and “Prowst” when he says that once, while ordering a steak, he asked for some sautéed “shit-take” mushrooms on the side.
Amagansett, New York. July 2019