This post is Day Five of the 5 Day 5 Photo Challenge in which I feature malapropisms.
Language has historically been a written and audio tool to distinguish social classes. Authors and playwrights – think Dickens, Shakespeare and Moliere – used malapropisms in dialogue when those from a lower class wished to appear educated while speaking to a higher-up. Their attempts to use proper words and grammar often resulted in a mangled phrase or two. (more…)
This post is Day Four of the 5 Day 5 Photo Challenge in which I feature malapropisms.
It was 2am one wintry February night and I was playing with a photo app. Little did I know when I stuffed my ‘fun house-ish’ doors in my virtual photo folder, they’d come in handy for Norm Frampton’s Thursday Doors.
Thumbing through Robert Alden Rubin’s going to hell in a hen basket malapropism dictionary for an appropriate D phrase, I came upon ‘doggy-dog’. (more…)
This post is Day Three of the 5 Day 5 Photo Challenge in which I feature malapropisms.
This massive, expanding thunderhead is representative of what passed overhead throughout the months of May, June and July when daily afternoon rains kept our foothills green far longer than normal. (more…)
This post is Day Two of the 5 Day 5 Photo Challenge in which I feature malapropisms.
Raqi and her buddy are at Spark’s football game. Because they are obviously ignoring the action, I looked for a malapropism having to do with ‘hiding.’ (more…)
Heh, you couldn’t resist that title, could you?
That’s ok. I couldn’t resist this little gem of a book:
Malapropism: a word or phrase that has been mistaken for another, usually because of its sound rather than its meaning.
This was our conversation last weekend on Hub’s birthday:
Me: “Honey, We are so fortunate we’ve been able to share so many birthdays together.”
Hub: “We are.”
Me: “I hope we both stay healthy enough that we can enjoy many more together.”
Hub: “Me, too.”
Me: “But I know how lonely you would be if anything happened to me. If I die first, I want you to find a companion who can share golf with you because we have such fun when we play.”
Hub: “OK”
Me: “In fact, you should let her use my clubs.”
Hub: “No, I would never do that.”
Me: “Why not? They are really good clubs, and I don’t mind.”
Hub: “No, I can’t.”
Me: “Why not?”
Hub: “Because she’s left-handed.”
Ha ha ha – April Fool’s Joke!
THAT conversation never happened.
But the following conversation actually occurred a few years ago …
If we don’t spend Thanksgiving Day with friends or family, we like to go for a long walk after dinner. One of our traditional walks meanders through a local cemetery where our talk often turns to our own lives, our remaining years, and whether we want to be buried, cremated, have a tombstone – more in a reflective than maudlin way.
That particular year, I was feeling thankful for all the spectacular vacations we’d taken, especially to some quaint locales before development changed their character and made them over-populated tourist meccas.
“Honey,” I said, “when I die, I want you to cremate me and take my ashes back to all the places we’ve traveled together and have such fond memories. Sprinkle a little of me each place you go, and enjoy being there again yourself.”
“Like where?” he asked.
“Oh, you know, like Turks and Caicos, the Cayman Islands, Young Island, Maui, Mackinac Island, the Lake Superior shore, San Francisco, Paris, Carmel, Telluride, Santorini the Maine coast. What do you think? Would you like to do that?
Hub … thinking … pausing … grinning … “Would I have to go alone?”
Flying into Turks & Caicos 1987
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