"Swarthy"
Every now and again, a word lodges itself into the forefront of my brain and refuses quite adamantly to vacate the premises. It's an insidious process - I remember or write or hear a word that strikes my fancy and make a note to incorporate (or reincorporate) it into my more frequent vocabulary.
I mean well, really I do.
The trouble is that once I become more aware of wanting to use the word, I use it. A LOT.
This week, the word has been, "swarthy."
I wish I were kidding, gentle reader, I wish that beyond all wishes. Truly, how often can one inconspicuously use the word "swarthy?" "Swarthy" stands out in a crowd. "Swarthy" couldn't be less inconspicuous. Saying "swarthy" more than once a month makes people look at one in an odd fashion.
I've used it twice today.
"Which guy do you mean?"
"The one in the orange striped shirt, next to the swarthy guy."
My friend arched an eyebrow and I sighed resignedly.
"That's twice," she lamented.
"I know. I can't help it."
Swarthy.
I work with a woman who cannot stop saying "cognizant" and "aspect." It's her curse, her burden, her albatross.
"I just want you all to be cognizant of the fact that..."
"I'm fully cognizant of that..."
"He is cognizant of your desire to..."
Always the same emphasis, never "aware of." "Cognizant."
The other word, "aspect," comes in less frequently but still rather noticeably.
"I'll need Babette to help with the filing aspect..."
"He's taking care of the driveway aspect of things..."
"If you look at it from this aspect..."
"I'll ask him if he's had a chance to think about the moving aspect..."
I envision my hands snaking around her throat, choking the evil words out of her: Woman, be healed! Out, OUT dread words of Satan! I cast thee out!
Alas, my fantasized exorcisms have no effect. Every morning, I become cognizant of a new (or not so terribly new) aspect of the business. My eternal sufferance. My ever-present exercise in tolerance.
My test in patience.
My mirror, for I am afflicted with the same illness.
"What an adorable dog!"
"Very. In a swarthy sort of way."
"You intolerable nitwit; you can't call a dog 'swarthy.'"
I mean well, really I do.
The trouble is that once I become more aware of wanting to use the word, I use it. A LOT.
This week, the word has been, "swarthy."
I wish I were kidding, gentle reader, I wish that beyond all wishes. Truly, how often can one inconspicuously use the word "swarthy?" "Swarthy" stands out in a crowd. "Swarthy" couldn't be less inconspicuous. Saying "swarthy" more than once a month makes people look at one in an odd fashion.
I've used it twice today.
"Which guy do you mean?"
"The one in the orange striped shirt, next to the swarthy guy."
My friend arched an eyebrow and I sighed resignedly.
"That's twice," she lamented.
"I know. I can't help it."
Swarthy.
I work with a woman who cannot stop saying "cognizant" and "aspect." It's her curse, her burden, her albatross.
"I just want you all to be cognizant of the fact that..."
"I'm fully cognizant of that..."
"He is cognizant of your desire to..."
Always the same emphasis, never "aware of." "Cognizant."
The other word, "aspect," comes in less frequently but still rather noticeably.
"I'll need Babette to help with the filing aspect..."
"He's taking care of the driveway aspect of things..."
"If you look at it from this aspect..."
"I'll ask him if he's had a chance to think about the moving aspect..."
I envision my hands snaking around her throat, choking the evil words out of her: Woman, be healed! Out, OUT dread words of Satan! I cast thee out!
Alas, my fantasized exorcisms have no effect. Every morning, I become cognizant of a new (or not so terribly new) aspect of the business. My eternal sufferance. My ever-present exercise in tolerance.
My test in patience.
My mirror, for I am afflicted with the same illness.
"What an adorable dog!"
"Very. In a swarthy sort of way."
"You intolerable nitwit; you can't call a dog 'swarthy.'"