A concentration of linguistic peeves

They are not pet peeves, mind you. If there is a sense of “pet” that means the ones that really, really make one see red — and I am not sure there is — then these three are not pets. But they came up in close proximity, and so I choose to gripe aloud.

Wait. Not aloud. What’s the blog equivalent of aloud? Hmm. Does anyone out there have a screen-reader so I don’t have to think about this?

Anyway…

Three peeves from one trip to a restaurant. First:

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Awesome. This way.”

“Awesome? Really? Awesome? No. The aurora borealis is awesome. The Lockheed SR-71 is awesome. A child acquiring language is awesome. The so-called “dark matter” in DNA is awesome. The submission of a strong capable powerful independent self-reliant brilliant woman to one and only one man is awesome. Seating three people for dinner is routine, mundane, uninteresting, perhaps even tedious. If that’s your definition of awe, give up now.

Second:

“Are you guys ready to order?”

Well, first of all, obviously by inspection, we are not guys. I might be a “guy” if you knew me better, which you don’t, so that’s rather an impolite address to begin with, but in any case that won’t work for the other two-thirds of the party.

In English, the second-person singular is you, and the second-person plural is you. It really is not that hard. “Are you ready to order?”

An exemption for certain parts of the southern United States: the second-person singular is you, the second-person plural is y’all, and the second person comprehensive — everybody — is all y’all. But none of those blatantly push the women in the group into a male-slang box.

Third:

“Are you still working on that?”

Oh. You consider that eating the food served in this establishment is onerous? You seek to relieve me of the burden of lifting yet another forkful of barely not poisonous slop to my mouth? Really? I thought I was here to enjoy eating, as a pleasure. Work? Sit down and let me tell you what my work is until you face-plant into the table from insufferable boredom. And no, by the way, you cant’t turn the table yet, I still have a little wine left, not that it’s all that good.

Whew.

I get these moods sometimes. Thank you for bearing with me.

— Frenulum

A serious note

I learned today that a regular reader, and occasional contributor to this blog, is facing cancer surgery in the coming days. The prognosis is good but the ordeal, as usual, is scary and uncomfortable and — well, all of the things that surgery tends to be. She has held on to her usual great sense of humor throughout.

Whatever your philosophy of the universe might be, if you could take a minute to send thoughts, prayers, good karma, hugs, supportive vibes, double rainbows, or whatever you can manage to Nancy, I will be in your debt.

Thank you.

— Frenulum

“Yes, Sir.”

I ran across an internet poster the other day: you know, one of those images with a clever caption photoshopped across it. (Aside: Adobe must just be driven mad by the non-trademark uses of "photoshop.") It was attempting to make a striking statement about the kind of relationship often characterized as “dominant/submissive.”

It said, as best I can recall: It’s simple. I tell you what to do, and you answer “Yes, Sir.”

That is just so wrong.

Exercise for the reader: why is it that the rarest words for a good submissive girl to utter are “Yes, Sir”?

Anyone care to comment?

— Frenulum

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