This is definitely the entry for today's One Line a Day Memory Book
Recently, I've given my kids reason to be embarrassed; I suppose with two teens and a tween, that's to be expected on occasion. Typically, either I'm unaware when I do it (talking to their teachers) or at the other end of the spectrum, it's pure evil intention (singing–or heaven forbid, dancing–along with a song when shopping with them).
This instance, benign in comparison, still strikes me as funny.
Apparently, I've been saying a word WRONG my entire life. This isn't so odd when you're younger–when I was probably in middle school, I said "practically" wrong. I think it was my sister who corrected me, and over and over again, she's say, "No, it's 'prack.tick.lee'", and I'd repeat back to her, "prack.lit.ee". I couldn't hear the difference. SHE wasn't going to be embarrassed by my ignorance, so she hammered it in until I got it right. Eventually, I mastered correct pronunciation and her world was restored.
Fast forward 30-something years and I've done it again, just like before, completely oblivious.
When an object that's supposed to be level isn't, I call it "wop-sided"; my kids heard me say this the other day and corrected me, "M-o-m, it's LOP-sided" and I just figured it was a tangle of the tongue (but not before calling my sister to confirm how SHE said it. She sided with my kids. Traitor. Definitely today').
Just now, forgetting that whole conversation, I said it again.
I'm making a chocolate layer cake with mmmmm-buttercream icing for my daughter's SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY (Aghhhh! SHE WAS BORN FIVE MINUTES AGO!!!) and I want it to be beautiful and delicious and perfect…
…but, just like my inability to draw a straight line, I cannot make level cake layers. I even started shaving off "bumps" with a serial-killer knife, but let's just say this about that: ever try to straighten bangs after you saved money by trimming them yourself, and you keep having to go back and forth to get it straight, and eventually they're sticking out like a pair of oh-so-pathetic-buck-teeth and you might just need to bring hats back into vogue?
I wasn't doin' the layers any favors.
We're throwing Rachel a surprise party in a few hours (note to self: keep her off the computer til tonight), and in case she's suspicious, I admitted I was making the cake for her (how can I hide it when she's here?). To make sure it exceeded any expectation she might have for it, I prepared her by telling her it was kinda wop-sided.
She said, "Bless your heart, Mom," which, in case you don't know is the Southern, polite way to preface an insult, "…you said it again. You really DON'T know the right word, do you?" Then, to sprinkle a little salt in the wound, she added sympathetically, "That's okay, if you say it fast enough, people probably don't even know you're saying it wrong."
Quite the wordsmith I am, no?