Reading is dangerous. Reading can put you into precarious
situations. 'Tis a good thing when those situations turn out
to be relatively private, as was the case a few days ago when
Princess Daughter and I were driving in the car and she said
something about a bowket (a what?). She went on to explain
what she meant and understanding flooded my mind. A
bouquet, as in, a bouquet of flowers. I corrected her and she
Quite different was the time my brother stood up in speech
class to, you know, give a speech...in front of people. Somewhere
in the middle of the speech he mentioned hors dee vors. How red
does one turn when you say, "hors dee vors" but you meant "hors
I'll never forget the blank look on the faces of my sister-in-law and
niece when I mentioned some book as being "mackabree". At least
they looked blank at first, then they broke up into hoots of laughter.
"Oh, Laurie, you must mean 'macabre'." And I was a grown woman.
I should have known better. (Okay, I was a short woman, but quite
old enough to know that word.)
My sister insisted as a girl that the word she was reading was
"conqueer" rather than "conquer". And as a young person I
felt so romantically "mellonchallie"; I wouldn't have know
"melancholy" if I had met him on the street.
Reading is dangerous territory. Enter at your own risk.
Photo courtesy of Flickr
Originally uploaded by BookMonger.