Wednesday, May 21, 2008


... phphpht go the dictionary pages during another quick lookup. As I phphphlip past page headings, "hidey-hole" always makes me smile. Hidey-hole. This thick, thumping authority, this noxious know-it-all, supercilious Scrabble settler, this lister of words like repecharge also lists hidey-hole. I can almost see this cosmopolitan, tuxedoed, bow-tied tome, its beady black eyes squinting down its pince-nez at me; I can almost hear its stentorian "Do you mean to tell me you don't know what a cherimoya is?" I feel stupid for only a second. Because then I spy its belly button exposed below its cummerbund: hidey-hole. There goes the intellectual edge. We can be friends again.

(Higgledy-piggledy is further down the hidey-hole page. Mr. Webster must have dipped his quill into the bubbly instead of the inkwell when he penned that page.)

No comments: