11. Words (Jan 2013)
Sometimes
Kate could get a little peeved about words. She would tell herself that on the
‘grand scheme of things’ one little word’s pronunciation or another’s
stretching of meaning was not really going
to make a difference in the “grand scheme of things.” But then she would go
back to her age-old argument: “When people use the same words for different
meanings, language has ceased to
function!”
Of course,
Mister often teased her about it, mispronouncing or misusing words on purpose. How irksome. And then there
were the times when they were both convinced on their own particular
definition.
Just a few
nights ago, in fact, Kate had returned home and after a hearty (and much
needed) dinner, she collapsed on the couch with a grin, “I’m pretty beat after
two long days of teaching and carousing around town!” she said.
Mister
looked at her in mock surprise and skepticism, “Were you kissing people?”
“Kissing?
Goodness, no! Whatever made you say that?”
“Well, you
said carousing…”
“Oh,” she
laughed, “carousing doesn’t mean kissing.
When I think of carousing, I think of cats prowling around town, getting into
mischief and having a jolly time.”
Mister’s
eyebrows went up. “Cats?” he said scornfully.
Out came their
red Webster’s New World Dictionary: Third
College Edition. (Handy on a nearby bookcase for just such a desperate
occasion.)
They
browsed for “carouse” and found the definition.
“Carouse:
to drink much alcohol, having a noisy merry time…”
Kate
sighed. That was more of a draw than she had hoped. Usually, she had clearly
won. She thought with satisfaction of their debate about the pronunciation of
“poinsettia.” But she wasn’t going to let him get away that easily….and of
course, Mister was looking at her with the same half mocking expression that
she wore on her own face.
“See
there,” he said, shutting the book. “Not a word about cats.”
“Cats were
just what I think of, you goof! I
wasn’t saying they were part of the definition.
And just where was all that kissing that you were talking about?”
He refused
to confront this headlong attack and just shrugged, “you’re over there talking
about cats, and well….” he gestured vaguely at the book, as if he was starting
to worry about his wife’s sanity.
Kate
scrunched her nose, giggled and playfully pinched him. “You know that’s not what I meant. But you
clearly had kissing in your
definition.”
Neither of
them pointed out that they had both left out the drinking of alcohol from their
definitions, which had been the primary thrust in the dictionary.
Later that
evening, Mister was sitting in bed looking at his hand. Methodically, he picked
up one finger and tapped it on the table, then the next, then the next… Kate
looked over his shoulder quizzically. Either he was concentrating on improving
his finger coordination or he was a million miles away. “What are you doing?” she
asked?
“Just
tapping,” he said, nonchalantly.
“Why?”
“Cuz.”
Kate waited
for more, but Mister said nothing else. After a moment, she burst into
laughter. “Cuz?” she chortled, the humor of the situation intensified by the
late hour. She recited their brief conversation, “‘Just tapping….why?....CUZ!’” she laughed and laughed. “What
kind of word…what kind of answer is
that?”
Mister
just grinned, not being able to account for his own power to make Kate laugh.
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