My hubby, Joe, came home the other day itching to share a misnomer that he knew would crack me up. Things like that make me happy. Other women want diamonds; all it takes for me is a good laugh. I’m just too easy.
My husband owns a commercial carpet, tile, and upholstery cleaning business and was at a job site in a sports bar. It was late, and those patrons sober enough to remember where they parked their vehicle had already left. The remaining trio of inebriated yahoos was engaged in a garrulous and raunchy conversation regarding women and sex. In the course of this, one of them took a break to ask Joe who he was. Joe explained that his company was there to clean the carpets, to which the man laughed and said, “Well that’s a fetal effort!” He then turned to his buddies and, blissfully unaware of his gaffe, repeated it. “His company is here to clean. I told him it was a fetal effort! Totally fetal!” His comrades agreed!
Another gem came in the form of an error on a medical transcription report. My cousin Carol said a particular doctor insisted he had not outsourced his dictations to a foreign locale. She knew better when a report came across her desk that mangled the diagnosis “inflamed uterus.” The unfortunate patient was instead diagnosed with a “flaming Eucharist.” Yikes! Holy vexatious verbiage, Batman!
As long as there are words there will be people mangling them, and I am certain I have done my fair share (and no doubt will again.) Fortunately, humor writing lends itself to such verbal vagaries, so I will share more of the same with you at some point. Asking me to keep these spoken faux pas to myself is a fetal effort. Totally fetal.
Til next time –