humor

Possum Panini

/ Diane Henders / 9 Comments

The other day in our staff meeting, we started talking about roadkill.  Don’t ask why.  Let’s just say that our staff meetings are rarely predictable.  The conversation devolved, not only to roadkill, but to the eating thereof. 

And Sharon blurted out “Possum panini!”

And I said, “You know, that just sounds naughty.  It’s like you’re using a euphemism for an itty-bitty possum  p…”

Subsequent embellishments on this theme left us holding our sides and weeping tears of laughter/agony.  It took awhile before we actually got back to business.

Afterwards, I started thinking about the oddities of the English language.  Some words just sound… rude.  Even if they’re not.  Lists of these have already been compiled, by people far more eloquent and twisted than I.  Just Google “words that sound dirty but aren’t”.  Hell, there’s even a Facebook group.

It’s easy to see why most of those words made the lists.  They’re pretty close to other words that generally don’t get used in polite company.  But certain “innocent” words bother me, too.  Here are a few:

Flaccid – Maybe because the “fla-” phonetic is an onomatopoeia for the sound of a limp dead fish being slapped against a hard surface?  I dunno.  The word just grosses me out.

Flabby – Probably because it’s flaccid’s cousin, but jigglier.  You know what I mean.  We’re talkin’ Jello smacked against a hard surface.  Same sound effect, different visual.

Puce – Maybe because it looks/sounds too much like “puke”?  Because it means “flea” in French?  Because it’s part of the word “prepuce”?  Because it’s necessary to wrinkle your nose when you pronounce it?  “Peeuuwss…”  So many possibilities, but it offends me on some deep level.  It seems to me that the colour it describes should be revolting snot-green, not dark brownish-purple.

Juggernaut – I haven’t a clue why, but this word just annoys me.

Scenario – Seems filled with self- importance.  It reminds me of the clichéd B-movie villain twirling his moustache and chortling.  Mustachio?  Scenario?  Maybe there’s some association there.

Indeed – I know the reason for my antipathy towards “indeed”.  A certain writer for a certain magazine uses it so frequently that I’ve developed a permanent allergy.  I’ve wanted to write a letter to the editor for about three years now, but I can’t figure out a way to do it without sounding like a wack job.  So I included it here instead.  Somehow it’s more acceptable to look like a wack job on my own blog.

Despite my hang-ups, I still use these words when necessary.  When it’s the right word, ya gotta use it.  Well, except “juggernaut”.  I draw the line at that.

What about you?  What words drive you crazy for no particular reason?  Or am I the only one with this problem?

Hangin’ in the Men’s WC

/ Diane Henders / 21 Comments

Let me tell you about my experiences lurking in men’s washrooms.  Carrying a measuring tape.

First, I have to say that men’s washrooms are (sorry, guys) disgusting.  There’s piss everywhere.  And those urinal pucks with the pubic hairs stuck in them?  Eeeuuw.

You may argue that, as a female, I should stay out of men’s washrooms, and that if I don’t like what I see in there, it’s my own damn fault.  This would be entirely true, if not for the fact that it was part of my job to be in there.  Yeah, with a measuring tape.

This was back in the dark days when I was still attempting to be an interior designer.  I’d gotten a friggin’ bachelor’s degree in it.  Thesis and all.  Trouble was, I sucked at it.  Hard.  The only reason I scraped through with the degree was because I kicked ass in all the academic subjects (the ones that dealt with real, objective facts). 

I couldn’t design my way out of a paper bag.

This wasn’t as much of an impediment as you might think.  I worked for a design firm that specialized in commercial spaces – offices, hotels, restaurants, and so forth.  A very large part of that type of work involves long, tedious hours measuring the sites and doing technical drawings.  I was excellent at that part.  And all the other designers hated it.  It was the perfect symbiotic relationship.

Which leads to me lurking in men’s washrooms carrying a measuring tape.  Because when you’re doing renovations, the whole damn place needs to be measured.

I had a system.

First, I’d hover outside the door for several minutes.  If a guy actually arrived to use the washroom, I’d ask him to scout it out for me.  I really had no desire to catch anybody with their pants down.

But usually, I was on my own.  After a decent interval, I’d knock on the door and call out.  If there was no response, I’d stick a sign on the door, “Temporarily closed – come back in 15 minutes.”

That usually worked.  But every now and then, some preoccupied guy would blow right past the sign and barrel into the washroom.  He’d usually get about half unzipped before he realized I was there.  Then there’d be this frozen deer-in-the-headlights moment, while his gaze darted between my female presence and the partially extended measuring tape in my hand.

We’d lock eyes for a second, both of us with tools half-unfurled.

Then there was usually some embarrassed mumbling, a half-assed explanation, and a hasty retreat on his part.  Sometimes they just fled without a word.  Frankly, that was more entertaining for me.  But I have a nasty streak.

While I’m on the subject, there were a couple of other things that I invariably found entertaining about washrooms.  The first was the colour scheme (excluding piss-yellow, which isn’t entertaining at all).  I was truly amazed by how many places stuck with the tried and true pink-for-girls, blue-for-boys colour scheme.  Really?  For adults?  In a business setting?

But for me, the best part was the condom dispensers.  In those fine establishments that provided this helpful service, it was always the same.  In the men’s, the condoms were always labelled “extra large” or some other turgid (or perhaps I should say tumid) adjective.

In the women’s they were always labelled “slim fit”.

I’m not even gonna go there. 

I’m just sayin’.

Anybody else got bathroom stories?  Ever walked into the wrong one by mistake?  Or on purpose?  Inquiring minds want to know.