Memoirs Of A Not-So Trophy Husband

I can remember the exact moment when I first heard someone utter the F-word. It was 6th grade, I was home sick from school, down in the basement. Dad came home and, not knowing I was there said it, curiously, to the cat. (See, that's the kind of weird things you do when you're home alone during a weekday — carry on profanity-laced conversations with creatures whose only understanding of human language are "Here kitty-kitty-kitty" and, apparently, "HEY! Get off the F*$&#NG table, cat!".) Oh. And yes, I too have had this conversation multiple times since last February, along with some like "Stop F*$&ing barking" and "Can you believe that F*$&ing Judge Judy?" But, I digress. . .

Why I can remember this seemingly insignificant moment in my life is beyond me. After all, I can barely remember to make the bed every morning when I get up. I don't know. Maybe it's a fascination with the fact that four simple letters can make up a word filthier than Pamela Anderson's home movie collection. Maybe I'm amazed that one word can cover so much territory as a noun, pronoun, verb, adverb AND an adjective. Sometimes all in the same sentence. Whatever the reason, I've learned as a writer that some words have more power than others. I love words (especially those that, when said in public, elicit the same looks you'd get by farting in a crowded elevator) and have been blown away by some of the new ones I've learned simply by doing housework. For example: Trivet.

First time I heard the word "Trivet," I thought of those goofy little balls of sex-crazed fur from Star Trek that kept multiplying and multiplying until the Enterprise was overrun with thousands of fuzzy, purring hairballs from hell. Then I remembered those were "Tribbles." "So what the F*$& is a F*$&ing Trivet?," I asked (see how versatile it is? Amazing.) Turns out it's one of those decorative tile (or metal) hotplates that every good Scandanavian grandmother used as wall decor but was really meant for placing hot pots or pans on so as not to burn the wood on the table. Who knew?

Another word I've recently learned that, if uttered in the company of my guy friends would at the very least result in a lot of teasing, at the very worst, leave me stripped naked, duct-taped to a lightpole with the words "I am a Loser" magic-markered on my forehead: Duvet Cover.

Duvet Cover. Seriously. What's a Duvet and what's it supposed to cover? Oh really? It's a quilt? And it covers a bed, not something actually called a Duvet? Gotcha. Now it all makes sense. That's WAY less confusing than actually calling it something like, I don't know, a blanket.

So where do these words come from? I have no idea but at some point, it would be nice to know things like who decided that a Chest of Drawers was anything other than a dresser? When it was determined that the words "gravy boat" made more sense than "gravy bowl?" And at what point did it become "throw pillow" rather than just "pillow?" I mean, I don't know about you, but at our house, you throw a pillow and you get grounded.

Especially if it knocks one of my handmade, Mexican Tile Trivets off the F*$&ing wall . . .