Who Knew There Was a Word for THAT?

So, I was Googling around the other day - as I so often do to feed my need for learning about all things weird, wacky, and/or wonderful - and did a search for "funny words." I found some great ones and wish to share, so that you, too, can bulk up your vocabulary. Enjoy!

Hobbledehoy - an awkward, gawky youngster existing somewhere between a man and a boy. Ten points anyone who can find the word describing the female version of this. (Though we females are, in general, a graceful and sophisticated lot, there are those among us - ahem - who harbor a particular fondness for some well-delivered potty humor.)

Borborygmus - the sound of a belly that rumbles. As in, "Jaime's ever-louder borborygmus told his dad he'd better get that mac-n-cheese on the table - and quick."

Pogontrophy - the cultivation of a beard. As in, "Gerald Ottenbein gazed dejectedly at his reflection. His first-ever attempt at pogontrophy was not going at all well."

Tittle - the dot above the letter "i." Really? Who thinks up these things?

Callipygian - having a beautifully shaped behind, as in, "Persistent visits to the gym can help one to attain the callipygian ideal." I'm just not even gonna touch this one...

Defenestration - a noun meaning the throwing of a person or thing out a window. Yes, a person or thing. A friend and regular reader of this blog called my attention to Defenestration.com, where you can read all about a sculpture on the corner of 6th and Howard Street in San Francisco that shows defenestration in action (with things, though, not people). Very interesting, and worth a click - or a real live visit, if you're able.

And the final entry for today:

Floccinaucinihilipilification* - the act of judging something to be worthless. As in, "I find her floccinaucinihilipilification of the pursuit of social status quite refreshing."  According to Wikipedia, floccinaucinihilipilification is listed as "one of the longest words in the English language." And believe it or not, floccinaucinihilipilification can be found in the Oxford English Dictionary as far back as 1741. 

*You know, it's quite fun typing floccinaucinihilipilification. I even tried spelling it with only one "c," to see if Spell Check really has this ridiculously long word in its arsenal, or if my repeated typing of floccinaucinihilipilification just forced it into such a major conniption that it imploded, leaving not so much as a wisp of smoke behind. 

Guess what? Floccinaucinihilipilification is actually in there. 

Cool. 

Today's Edition of Things You Just Don't See Every Day

We here at Chez Wheedleton used part of our holiday weekend to take in a movie. Turns out, it was mildly eventful.

First, we went to Rita's Italian Ice for refreshments while I tried out a new app I recently downloaded to my phone to order our tickets. I had full bars. I was in a 3G area. It was supposed to be Quick and Easy. However, our anticipated Quick and Easy ticket purchase rapidly morphed into Seemingly Endless and Recalcitrant, so we gave up and just drove the ten minutes to the theater and bought our tickets the Old Fashioned Way - at the ticket booth. 

So, tickets in hand, we realized we were a full hour early for the show we purchased. Now, Handsome Boy + any kind of wait = DWtH (Disaster Waiting to Happen), so we took a walk around the shopping center attached to the movie complex to occupy our time. With not much to see, and stores about to close for the day, we dashed into the only store that could be browsed: a Walgreens. My husband C followed the kiddos as they followed their instincts directly to the toy aisle, while I followed my instincts directly to the lipstick aisle.

Understand, I am by no means a Girly-Girl (not that there's anything wrong with that), but I do like to wear a bit of make-up, and my trusty Revlon lipstick (Super Lustrous Shiny Sheers #845 Sheer Plumdrop, to be precise) has been down to that little blob-of-extra-lip-stuff-they-use-at-the-bottom-of-the-tube-to-keep-the-lipstick-from-falling-out-of-the-top-of-the-tube-every-time-you-twist-it-up for quite a while, now.

Anyway, there I was, searching the make-up wall for my favorite lip stuff (which it seems Revlon doesn't make anymore, 'cause I can't find it anywhere) when Handsome Boy sauntered up to me with his hands behind his back and a tell-tale impish grin on his face, followed a little ways behind by C and Lovely Girl, who had suspiciously blank faces. 

"What do you have?" I asked, raising an eyebrow and trying to lean around to see behind him. He is notorious for begging cookies and candy from his father in the store, and his father is notorious for buying them for him, and I had no intention of once again being the Smuggler of Snacks into the movie theater just because I'm the only one in this family who carries a bag of any sort. 

Well, Handsome Boy seemed to be struggling with two things - whatever was behind his back, and keeping a straight face. He quickly failed at both, yanking a packaged whoopie cushion out in front of him, squeezing with all his might, and erupting into uncontrollable guffaws...along with the rest of us. Alas, the fun only lasted for a few seconds, since the store announced it was closing, so we made our exit exactly as we had made our entrance: sans lipstick or whoopie cushion...or snacks.

With a half hour to go until movie time and no stores left to invade, we made our way back to the theater, bought the requisite snacks and drinks, and settled into our seats. Well, almost. We managed about a minute of settling in before C said, "I think my seat is broken. Is your seat broken? I think my seat is broken." Meanwhile, he was wiggling all kinds of ways to try to get comfortable, and he looked like a kid who really needed to use The Facilities, so we decided to slide down to different seats and try again. This time the Settling Process made its way to completion, and we got set to watch the two thousand and one promos and commercials until the movie started.

Then, a few sips into my Dr. Pepper, I realized that - unlike C - I really did need to use The Facilities, so I excused myself and hurried off so as to hurry back so as to not miss the actual movie we came to see. Upon entering The Facilities, I found I had my pick of "seating," as it was utterly deserted. It was after I made my choice and secured the stall door that I saw it: a Thing You Just Don't See Every Day. So, I did what anyone would do: I snapped a picture, then chose a different stall to complete my business before hurrying back to the movie.

After I sat down, and with mere minutes to go before the movie started, I leaned over to C and the kiddos and conspiratorily whispered to them my Facilities Discovery. Then I pulled out my camera and showed them the shot. They each gazed down at the photo, then back at me. And every single one of them had only one question:

"Did you get the quarter?"

A Leap of Faith

Do you want to know why I work out?

It's because when my four-and-a-half-foot-tall, sixty-some-pound son leaps down from the bus steps, sprints full-speed up the road, and then hurls himself through the air at me - arms wide and grin even wider...

...he has complete faith that I will catch him.

The Consequences of Childhood Insecurities

I am five feet, nine inches tall. If I were a guy, that would be considered on the short side. Since I'm not a guy, I'm considered to be on the tall side, and have been so since elementary school. Well, except for my junior high years, when the other girls caught up to me for a while. (The junior high years. They're such an anomoly. I wish I could have just skipped them altogether...)

Anyway, if you, too, were on the tall side growing up, you - like me - had to wear floods far more often than your fragile psyche approved of. (You know, floods: pants that were most unfashionably several inches higher than the tops of your shoes.) I was so relieved when the early 80's rolled around, and it became the "it" thing in our school to wear funky striped socks with jeans rolled clear up to our knees. And when the legwarmer-with-jeans thing came into style, well, it was a beautiful thing. In fact, I think capris were invented by tall people who endured the ridicule of having to wear floods during their formative years. 

So, ever since I started making my own way in the world, I've made sure that every single pair of pants I buy comes clear down to the tops of my shoes. And if they actually drag the ground some...even better. And when laundry days come, I stretch every single pair of pants as long as I can every time they come out of the washer, then hang them on a rack to dry. It is the ultimate in flood insurance.

Which brings me to this morning. It's rainy here on the East Coast. Really, really, really rainy. So I pulled on my comfy, well-worn, and impressively long walking-to-the-bus-stop sweatpants, and the kiddos and I dutifully dodged puddles and tiptoed through the minefield of worms that cover the road between home and bus stop. Then I dutifully picked my way back through the puddles and worms as I headed back home. 

As soon as I got in the door, I kicked off my shoes and headed downstairs to grapple yet again with The Little White Insulting Box. After firing everything up, I walked back to stand on the Wii Fit board and looked down for a moment to steel myself against another round of insults, and...

Wait...

What is that?

Well, it seems that fabulously long, flood-insured pants actually do have a bit of a downside: there on the carpet wriggled a very bewildered worm that unwittingly hitched a ride inside Chez Wheedleton courtesy of the hem of my ground-dragging pants.

And I don't care. I will never wear floods again.

Bring it on, worms! 

Oh, to Crawl Inside His Mind

So, there I was: sitting at the ball fields for the fourth time this week, watching Handsome Boy's little league game that I was sure would be called soon on account of rain, huddling under one big golf umbrella that I shared with Lovely Girl, who sat with her own chair squinched right up next to mine. My husband C was standing next to us, trying in vain to fend off the raindrops with his own terribly small travel umbrella. And all three of us had our eyes trained on Handsome Boy, out there in center field, braving the rain along with the rest of his team.

I don't know what inning it was, but there was a lull in the action. I was looking hopefully back toward the dugout and chanting in my head: Please call the game! Please call the game!, when I heard C say, "What's he doing?" I whipped my head around and looked back toward our little center fielder. 

There stood Handsome Boy, still dutifully at his outfield post, still more or less keeping his eyes focused towards the batter at home plate. But he was not in ready position. Instead, he was gyrating around, waving his hands in the air, waggling his little bottom, bopping along to a beat only he could hear. He jammed along for several moments in his own private dance club. The outfield coach was gamely trying to ignore it. C, Lovely Girl and I burst into uncontrollable giggles. 

Finally, I managed to call out to him, "What are you doing?"

Handsome Boy looked our way, smiled his usual impish grin, and kept right on dancing through the inning, stopping only when the batter hit the ball to see if it was coming his way. When his team got the third out, he trotted back to the dugout with them, leaving the three of us still in hysterics and wondering what on earth he was doing out there.

Two batters later, with the rain now coming down in sheets, the coaches finally called the game. Handsome Boy gathered his things and bounced over to where we stood waiting. As soon as he got within earshot, we were all asking, "What was all that in the outfield?"

He smiled at us, eyes wide, as if to say we were less than observant, and not too terribly bright. "I was doing my rain dance," he said. "You know, to keep the raindrops from getting on me."

Huh. Here we were using umbrellas to dodge those raindrops. And all we really needed were a couple of rad moves...