I have always been a lover of words.
At an early age I began spouting words other children don't usually utilize in normal speech, and that habit has continued throughout my life. I just love to find a word that means something new and fresh. A word that describes what I want to say better than any other. A word that other people wouldn't normally use. It trips off of my tongue like....well....spit. Or something.
As you can see, I can often use a little help when I'm trying to actually FIND the verbage of which I speak.
It's become so much a part of my life that I don't even realize how I'm saying what I'm saying most of the time. For instance, I can explain something to someone in a perfectly understandable idiom, only to have them look at me like they're Bambi's brother and they've just been caught in the headlights of my car.
"What?" I say.
"Exactly." they respond. "Speak ENGLISH, for crying out loud!"
Mom used to get perturbed with me because I started correcting her grammar when I was in elementary school. Finally, after being whopped in the mouth with a wet dishrag for the umpteenth time, I wised up...and clammed up. That's when I learned that correct English is sometimes not as important as the thought one is trying to convey. Especially if the one trying to convey the thought has a wet dishrag in her hand.
Momma didn't raise no dummies.
I used to work at a manufacturing plant. I was in the office with two other women, and after working with me for a few months it got to be too much for them. They started calling me "Big Word User" whenever I went into The Zone. But that didn't stop me. Not for one instant.
Oh no MA'AM.
Finally, at long last, I found a place for my little idiosyncrasy. A home for the latent English Major in me, if you will. A haven for the language lover. A place for my vocabulary to rest in peace.
It's right here.
Downtown Bloggity Central.
My kind of place, with my kind of people. Interpeeps that understand the power of words.
And for that, I thank you.