Help me out here.
I’ve already taken my blog to the toilet lately, so while we’re talking under the stalls, maybe you can enlighten me about something. Not that I’m trying to call the grammar police, I’m simply trying to get out of the Twilight Zone.
Everyone else is already on the bandwagon and I’m still standing by the side of the road, scratching. It would be one thing if I had noticed things evolving over time, but no, it’s more like someone sent out a memo and something ate my copy of it. Probably the damnsquirrels.
Brave Nancy Drew didn’t, of course, but I remember that when things were very scary or very funny, the rest of us almost peed in our pants. That doesn’t happen any longer.
Now, by unanimous consent, people simply pee their pants, not pee in them. Here, I get a mental picture of a pair of underpants sitting on a potty seat. If something is super-scary, people don’t worry that they’ll poop in their pants. Nope. They poop them. Seriously, the picture that comes to mind is that pooping one’s granny pants would be painful. Besides, I think it would clog the plumbing.
We don’t graduate from high school these days. We graduate it. So, does high school go off to college at that point?
It used to be that one played golf. Now they simply “golf.” (Dearly Beloved’s theory is that anyone who “golfs”. . . shouldn’t be out there.) Will people “soccer” and “basketball” before long? Could be. One doesn’t play bowling, one bowls.
People aren’t “in the hospital” any longer. They’re “in hospital.” I think that’s from the Brits. Remember when “runways” were commonplace until a European reporter said the word, “tarmac.” Pouf! The word runway disappeared.
It isn’t just language that has left me in the dust. I’m in the dust bunnies now, too. For instance, several months ago, The New York Times had an article that bedskirts are passé. Not falling out of favor, but kaput! Passé! Not pencil skirts or miniskirts, but bedskirts. What is the logic there? Where I am supposed to put all the out-of-season sweaters and any too-small pencil skirts stored under ours? Here, I got the memo, but I don’t “get” it.
Passé we are. Up one side of the hall and down the other– all four bedrooms. Don’t lift my skirts–please!
And the bacon memos! Do you receive those? After decades of being told that bacon is bad for us, suddenly it’s appearing in everything from aperitifs to desserts. Did I miss a memo about the previously overlooked health benefits of bacon? Or is it that being bad is good? sigh.
When I asked DB these questions, I could tell that he was thinking that perhaps I missed another memo–the “get a life!” one. He’s right. I’m missing too many memos.
Better text me.