The reality in which we pirouette as children is so much different than where we flail as adults. Kids dance in what is more like perception, until one day they fall through the glass, land in a chair labeled “grown-up,” and discover just what reality is.
Gross.
Becoming an adult brings a flood of realization. There are a lot of important epiphanies we have as we mature, some of which result in embarrassment.
I am specifically referring the embarrassment felt once you realize you have misheard, mispronounced, and/or misunderstood sayings, phrases, and lyrics for YEARS.
I was raised Catholic.
Many of my misheard and mispronounced phrases came from mass.
For example,
Actual: “…on the third day, He rose again…”
Me: “…on a Thursday He rose again!”
Actual: “Peace be with you.”
Me: “Pleased to be with you!”
Actual: “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by they name…”
Me: “HARROLD by thy name!”
Speaking of mass, when the priest sings “Let us praaaay”, does anyone else want to respond in song, “Okaaaayyy”?
Sixteen years of riding in the backseat with my mother driving and saying, “Should have gone!” when she missed an opportunity to turn. What was I hearing? “Shuddagong!”
And you can bet that’s the exact word I say now as I drive.
I can blame my father for this one: I grew up not referring to the delicious sausage as “Kielbasa,” but in fact as “Kabossy.” Imagine my embarrassment when I use the word as a professional adult only to get blank and confused stares from my coworkers.
Until recently, I was under the impression the phrase when negotiating a lower price was “Chew him down!” My husband was more than happy to point out the phrase, in fact, is “Jew him down.” I think my version is more politically correct, thanks very much.
Here’s another one for which I can place blame on my parent’s shoulders:
I grew up using the word “broom” as both a noun AND a verb. Yes. “I am brooming the floor.” I never heard the end of that one after I started working at KFC.
When I started working in an office, I quickly realized the term is not, in fact, Vanilla folder. It’s manila. What the fuck is manila? I am damn certain that folder is the color of vanilla ice cream.
You know the furniture “chest of drawers?” Yeah. Chester drawers. Total sense, right?
I can remember playing Barbies with my sister. Barbie would marry Ken (whom she would later leave for G.I. Joe) and our imaginary minister would say, “Do you, Ken, take Barbie to be your waffley wedded wife?”
I’m also noticing how much fun it is to go back and watch the kid shows and movies from back in the day, because as an adult, I am picking up on so much more.
Babe was an adorable movie. Remember how the farmer looks down at Babe in the end and says ,“That’ll do, pig, that’ll do”? What was I hearing?
“Daddle-doo, pig. Daddle-doo.”
Remember Hey Arnold? Helga’s mom was a total alcoholic! How sad is that? And Shaggy and Scooby Doo were definitely pot heads. How else can you explain their appetite? Nala and Simba were totally getting it on during Can You Feel the Love Tonight, I’m pretty sure Chicken Run is a metaphor for concentration camps, and it is way too obvious that Frollo in the Hunchback of Notre Dame just wants to bang Esmerelda.
Gross.
The point here (I think) is that becoming an adult brings all sorts of fun enlightenments, and it’s just best to enjoy the ride and laugh along the way. We’re all coming to these grand realizations (some huge, some just as insignificant as realizing what Timon and Pumbaa were really watching as they sang their song).
We’re growing older, growing wiser (I hope).
Enjoy.
#adulting 