I love words. I'm pretty sure I have since I was a fat, silent, happy baby.
Words never cease to amaze me and lately there have been some big ones:
~ Home
-I love this word : ) It has come to mean even more to me than it already did, and I love that the person I call 'home' is home with me : )
~ Fiance
-Who are the pompous people who thought up this lovely one? Oh yes, my beloved Frenchies. I despise using this word in public because I feel like a snobberishous glut who would wave her left hand around just so her ring could dazzle everyones eyeballs. New deal: I'm just going to call Tommy my Fancy.
: ) That's how my father would probably sound out the french anyway.
~ Wife
-It sounds so solid. In portraying this role I would feel completely appropriate donning a grouch-face, another 70 lbs, an apron and wooden ladle. Don't ask me why 'wife' makes me think of large, unhappy yiddish grandmothers...
Today the big kahuna was:
Mrs.
-Strangely enough I do not picture yiddish women, but I certainly do picture someone mature, wise, and elegant. Someone who at least has had their 30th birthday neatly tucked away amongst their white linen, stationary, and silk pajamas. I certainly do not picture a girl who calls her father "daddy", her pj's "stretchy pants", and is believed to be 12 yrs. old by 15 yr. old girls on airplanes.
But, here is how it lies:
I am a young-looking fancy and will not only continue to call my father "daddy" and my pj's "stretchy pants", but also jump up and down in unbridled excitement at the thought of coming home to my fancy, put off homework like a 12 yr. old, and stand on the couch whenever possible. Just because it's fun to be up there : ) And I will embrace wife and Mrs. like I would those unhappy yiddish grandmothers because I'll bet they are so much better than I could possibly imagine.
Besides, I'll be Tommy's Mrs. and wife, and quite frankly you could call me anything when I'm his: I'm honored and happy.
