For the record: I like words. You may recall this one time in college when I carefully cataloged all the four-syllable words ending in “-ate” that I could think of. Propitiate, enumerate, repudiate, et cetera. You cannot bottle this coolness, people.
Lately, my obsession is base words whose pronunciations change when you tack on a suffix. Like circuit and circuitous, and fruit, fruition. Current favorite: multiplicity, multiplicitous.
This one may have been skewed, however, by: me using the word multiplicitous to describe how non-multiplicitous I am, Stephan not believing it was a word, me not being able to find it in the dictionary but finding it all over online (including the highly credible urbandictionary), and Stephan still not believing me until he found “multiplicity” in a fancy economics book.
The moral of this story is that I was right, which Stephan should have known, as it has already been established that I am correct on all word-related matters for the rest of the year.
And it is because of this personal rectitude that I can still claim urbandictionary as an authority, in spite of its blatant use of “synergism,” which, come on, seriously? Is a completely made-up word.
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:) Yesterday, Chad cheated me into a wager. He used this word, “confabulate” and I said there was no way that was a word. So he said he was sure it was and bet me that if it was in the dictionary, I would have to wash all the dishes after our Mother’s Day dinner with my parents. So I agreed. Then we looked it up and it was, indeed, a word.
So I did all the dishes.
Then later that night Chad spent an hour in the kitchen doing some secretive stuff that he wouldn’t tell me about. Later he comes out and says he has a confession to make. He cheated on our wager. He knew for a fact it was a word, because it is printed on all his assessments!
So then he goes to the kitchen and brings out a tray of chocolate dipped strawberries, walnuts & raisins.
Aww! Everybody wins!
except for the part where i washed dishes for my own mother’s day dinner.
Nalani: When you said you had to do dishes after Mother’s Day, I was picturing all of you at your parents’ house. You know, because your mom is a mother, and you are her child. Where else could you possibly celebrate Mother’s Day? Apparently I forgot that since you have kids, you too are a “mother”. My brain is certain that in order to be a “mother” on Mother’s Day, you have to be at least, like, 47.
With this epiphany, Chad’s deception suddenly seems a lot meaner.
What Stephan said. I went through the exact same thought process, and it was not until you pointed out that it was your own Mother’s Day dinner that I realized what was really going on. Because we all know that you’re not old enough to be celebrating Mother’s Day as a mother.
Also: you made Stephan comment for the first time ever HOORAY! He does exist!