I see myself as a pretty hip chick. For cryin’ out loud, look at all the proof I have!: Creedence Clearwater 8-tracks, embroidered bell bottoms… I’m even thinking of getting my make-up tattooed on permanently.
How cool would that be? I mean, I'm sure it will look great!
I’m hip, baby; and what you’re putting down? Yeah, I’m pickin’ it up. No problemo, man.
But I worry – not that my cats aren’t getting enough tartar control in their “crunchy seafood medley” diet or that my canned foods have fallen out of alphabetical order. No. I’m worried that I’m not keeping up with the slang like I used to. Sometimes, I overhear people speaking English and yet I have no idea what they just said. They’re speaking in a code they’re not sharing, and I want in.
As has been noted in the past, I’m a lover of words: multi-syllabic words, words with heft and girth, words borrowed from previous generations. I love ‘em.
And that’s why I’ve arranged for lessons.
Why not? I figure The Boy can always use a couple extra bucks, and who better to bring me up to speed on what the Cool Kids are saying these days than my smart-aleck of a boy?
I’m really excited about this.
I got my first word today: “cheevil”. The Boy assures me that if I slip this word into casual conversation it’ll be noticeably cool.
But what’s it mean? I ask him.
You don’t need a meaning, he says. That’s what makes it – it covers everything.
You guys, I’m so excited. Things over here are going to be totally cheevil!
National Poetry Month Day Twenty-Four
15 hours ago