A worked-over re-post. And you know why? Because I had band practice last night! Hee-hee! I'm so excited!
I see myself as a pretty hip chick. For cryin’ out loud, look at all the evidence I have!: Creedence Clearwater 8-tracks, embroidered bell bottoms, one of those big combs sticking out of my back pocket…
That’s all still cool, right? Am I right?
I’m hip, baby; and what you’re cookin’?
I’m smellin’ it.
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, perhaps during a bout of casual eavesdropping on the bus, I overhear people speaking English and yet I have no idea what they are saying. 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.
He’s already assigned me my first word.
“Give me a good one,” I say, whipping out a notebook and writing the date carefully in the left-hand corner. Smiling, he gives me the word. I just know this is going to work out well. I mean, I’ve even spelled it correctly, right off the bat: “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 such a great word – it covers everything.
You guys, I’m so excited. Things over here are going to be totally cheevil!
1 hour ago