Before I begin, and I do have a theme today, I want to mention that I went back to Chris and Lilly’s yesterday because I wish to 100% ensure I am riddled with COVID-190. It’s the extra-strong version.
I went back over there to look at the kittens and as of this writing, 4 are still available. If you live remotely close to NC, like, if I drive three hours and you drive three hours, I’ll will bring you a kitten. They are a combination of boys and girls, and I’d tell you how many of each except THEY ALL LOOK THE SAME so I don’t know who all I’m dealing with, here. I’d pick one up, sex it up, put it down, pick one up and say, Is this the one I just picked up?
My point is this. Somehow Lilly and I mentioned fever and ague, which we said out loud at the same time, except Lilly said, “ag-you” and I said, “awwg.” I started reading those books (Oh. This is a reference to Little House on the Prairie books. I just assume everyone has every plot point from them right in their heads and would know what I meant as soon as I said fever and ague. Sorry.)
(The entire Ingalls family got fever and ague, see, which we now call malaria. Except back then they didn’t know how you got it and some people said it was from watermelon. Other people said it was made up by Democrats.)
“Is it pronounced ag-you?” I asked Lilly, who seemed so certain.
Lately I’ve learned this magnificent at-home copy editing trick: If I worry I’m looking at a misspelled word, I can just say, “Hey, Google, how do you spell xerophthalmia?” and Google Home will say, “Xerophthalmia is spelled x-e-r-o….” What I am STUNNED about is how often Google Home, who is a smug ass, subtly points out I am mispronouncing the words I wish to spell. Stunned. I’m like one of the Real Housewives. At least I don’t say hide it under the carpet.
IT’S SWEEP IT UNDER THE RUG, you eeeeeeeeeeeeegiots. Some say brush it under the carpet, but the point here is you … never mind. I’ve gotten off track. And I do have a theme today.
So we looked up fever and ague, Lilly and I did, and if you look something up in Merriam-Webster it has a little speaker icon you can push that says the word out loud for you so you know if you’re pronouncing it right. When I lived with Ned, I remember telling him this trick and then all night he’d be on his side of the couch, his phone saying, dick, dick, dick 49 times in a row.
So it turns out it’s fever and AGGGGYEW, which I never knew, and so stunned by this was I that I went home and looked it up on my own and I’D BEEN LOOKING AT THE WORD WRONG. In my HEAD, it was auge. But in real life, it’s spelled ague. Which I still might have pronounced in my mind as awwg.
My 8-year-old self looked at the word as auge and never really looked at the word again.
Hi. I’m a copy editor. Won’t you hire me for your next important work?
“You thought it was awwwwg,” said Lilly’s child Z, who is somewhere between 3 and 11 years old and who is much smarter than I. Except I’d like to point out she referred to Pride and Prejudice, because all 3-to-11-year-olds do, except she called it Priceless and Pregnant. So I don’t know where she gets off making fun of my slang for a disease from 1870 that I didn’t know.
At this point, I see our theme has gone out the window. We will address it tomorrow, but I will give you a little hint at the excitement to come.
I have this house, see, and I’ve been here two years, see, and I’m starting to do that thing where, for example, most of my sheets are in a drawer, except for these few sheets that don’t fit so they’re over here.
And my books are on these shelves, don’t you know, except for the two rows of books in the kitchen cupboard.
So what I need from you is your organizational skillz, and if you don’t have any, pipe down and watch the orgs at work.
I used to have a book club here at Book of Juan, and we’d meet on, like, Sunday afternoons and discuss books in the comments. Every month there’d be one or two, “I didn’t read it” yahoos on there. This was back when I’d get hundreds of comments, so to wade through those, “I never read the book, June, but blah de blooo de bloooo, dee blee deee” people drove me out of my skull and I stopped having book club.
My friend Paula in Seattle, not the New York Paula who comments here, stopped getting baked goods from this one store because the shop owner would count out your change by saying, “That’s one wrinkled George” and she couldn’t take it any longer.
This store was on the ground floor of our building at work, and also in our building was the FBI, and finally one day one of those FBI men said, “Heyyyyy,” about Wrinkled George and it turned out Wrinkled George was, like, one of the most wanted men in America. Can you imagine? “I’m most wanted. Think I’ll set up shop in the FBI’s building.”
Anyway they arrested him. But she, my friend Paula, got equally annoyed with the next bakery she went to, because each day she’d go in and ask for a plain scone (she doesn’t like flavors) and they’d say, “Oh, we already sold it.”
This drove her out of her mind. If they knew she was coming every day, why not make two? We sold it.
I guess I’m telling you this because it makes me seem less fussy about the “I didn’t read the book” attendees at my Mince Words With June, which was what book club used to be called back when this blog was called Bye Bye, Pie.
I really did come here with a theme.
Okay. Bye, then.