(WARNING. THERE IS LANGUAGE IN THIS POST. BAD LANGUAGE.)
(WELL, BAD GRAMMAR REALLY.)
(And Words that aren't being polite.
Words that haven't
brushed their hair in ages and probably wouldn't know a razor if they fell over
one.
If you are easily offended by words and their potential interactions in an uncontrolled environment, look at the pretty picture of a kitten and click on like.)
oops... I will try again, shall I?
I was only joking about the click on likes. But really? Now is the time to skedaddle...
V and I were arguing over discussing the relative merits of the great word
“gotten”.
It feels a little grubby, doesn’t it, rolling this gem
around in a sentence scenario, attempting to insert the little bastard of
verbal expectorant? But it is also oh so rich and creamy, and has a versatility that
leaves more proper verb families aghast.
I know there is a smattering - perhaps even a veritable smattering - of folk who listen
and read amongst us who would love to strangulate any possibility of such scat utterance. I know because I have been known to don the
sheep’s clothing – be it Merino or be it Dorset – and have heard their ear-felt
pleas to peers.
But I also know that there are shedloads of instances when
it feels like the insertion of a gotten gives the glue that a sentence
requires.
I said shedloads there, didn’t I? The auto-correct inside our brains
immediately did the M rated translation, the word that she should have used but
this is a family blog – you didn’t even have to manoeuvre yourselves
through the labyrinth of why, your mind immediately put it there.
But what if I meant “shedloads”? What if I was being as literal as
possible? What if I had done the maths,
and worked out that a shed could hold a much larger amount of instances?
Where does that leave the shortcut in our
prehensile brain – dangling for want of an expletive?
Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to give heed to those
who hold grammar in higher regard than those evolutionary theorists that walk
the streets, natural preachers of the fluidity of speech. We’re different is all. But it’s also naughty and a little bit fun to
take rules and flout with words graffitiing the walls of shrines.
Shitloads.
Really? Thought about it? I mean, what does that mean?
What is the unit by which this measure is
regarded? Is it volume, density,
profundity or potential of expression?
Come on –unless you have medical issues about which I don’t
know (and can only attempt to express the measure of
sympathy required without full explanation of the details - I understand that it could get fairly awkward), then it is a pretty
sure bet that you have your own load experiences to know what I might be
talking about.
There is one thing for
sure and certain, and that is when all is said (or unsaid) and done, you have
an emotional response to that which we are not to discuss.
Is that why we love the word
so much in every which way but, well, butt, you know…?
Whereas sheds… How many here have sheds in their lives right
now? In their pasts? In their myths about life?
So why are we so certain that “shedloads” is
in some way even comparable to “shitloads”?
“We will have shedloads of
fun”.
No we won’t! If our fun is to be measured in shedloads, we
have already toned down for mother.
Mind
you, there are probably some out there to whom the concept of shed equates to
fun, be it mechanical or biological in nature, and good luck to you, good
folk. Love your work!
“I’ve got shitloads of
housework to do”.
Now, that is an
altogether different unit of measure we have to contemplate. Perhaps with a good book, a cup of coffee or
a surf on facebook.
We get it. Shit. Loads. Of.
Housework.
Let it go, I say. Let all of your expectations about the
enormity of the job in front of you float away and consider instead that
perhaps this is a mantra, and we can correlate the requirement for cleanliness
and its ability to assist in the void of the soul, unclench and regard
“shitloads of housework” in terms of project management and finish with a smile
on your face as you press the button on “finished”, flushed with success.
So when I reach for an easy
“gotten”, I realise that there are worse things. Far, far worser things I could say or do to
get people off side.
