8.10.03
The Language of "Muh"
We went on holiday last weekend. It was nothing big. It was the kind of holiday that really is a holiday and not a vacation. The sort of thing where you ditch work, or school, or a dreaded appointment and catch bucket rate trains down to the coast and spend three days in the rain desperately trying to enjoy your ice cream while simultaneously trying to decide whether it's possible to accidentally bite off your own tongue due to chattering teeth.
But, you know, it was fun. We got rained on. I did something I'd never done before, and spent too much money on a dress I'd never wear again. We huddled inside and watched those old, terrible Star Trek movies.
Him: Oooh! Bubble wrap! Have the bubble wrap!
Me: No. No keep that stuff away from me. I'll get obsessed with it, and there's only enough room in my head for one obsession at a time. Spock! I must save room for Spock! He's so old and cool...
The heating failed and we all tried to huddle under a single duvet we found in the attic. In what was, tragically, a genuine accident:
Him: What the bloody hell is that?!
Me: My breast, you ingrate!
Him: Oh. Err...sorry...
At a certain point, hunckered in a pub to hide from the rain, two of us coughing and dying of the smoke, one of us indifferent and one of us lighting up in relief, the following, and most disturbing conversation occurred:
Him: Baby, vodka muh.
Her: But muh sickies beans.
Him: ...Muh?
Her: Muh...
Him: [sigh] Muh.
Sickening, correct?
Now, I admit to being biased. I've never quite understood the pet-names phenomenon. If someone tries to "hey, baby" me, I tend to start laughing hysterically. But, you know, I'm not one to judge. I could even put up with the ludicrous pet-language displayed above, if not for one thing.
It's spreading.
Behold - I will translate the above conversation:
Him: Baby, can I have another drink?
Her: You know if you drink much more you're just going to end up being sick all night like last time.
Him: But I really, really want one...
Her: Well, I can't stop you, but you know I'm right.
Him: [sigh] Okay...I bow to your greater wisdom.
I am now fluent in the language of Muh. And it's not just me. There are at least two others (aside from the infectious couple mentioned above) who have been corrupted.
At the moment, we are teetering on the brink of sanity and salvagability. We speak Muh, but only in sarcasm. Still, conversations like the one below are becoming increasingly common:
Me: Muh cards, muh?
Her: But Simpsons, beans!
(Meaning, "Do you want to play cards?" "Yes, but not until after The Simpsons.")
I'm worried. One day, I fear I will wake up with English erased and only Muh remaining.
If you ever arrive here to find something like this -
Muh blog beans, week muh!
- you will know it's too late for me. If this ever happens, please do the honourable thing and hunt me down and kill me...
We went on holiday last weekend. It was nothing big. It was the kind of holiday that really is a holiday and not a vacation. The sort of thing where you ditch work, or school, or a dreaded appointment and catch bucket rate trains down to the coast and spend three days in the rain desperately trying to enjoy your ice cream while simultaneously trying to decide whether it's possible to accidentally bite off your own tongue due to chattering teeth.
But, you know, it was fun. We got rained on. I did something I'd never done before, and spent too much money on a dress I'd never wear again. We huddled inside and watched those old, terrible Star Trek movies.
Him: Oooh! Bubble wrap! Have the bubble wrap!
Me: No. No keep that stuff away from me. I'll get obsessed with it, and there's only enough room in my head for one obsession at a time. Spock! I must save room for Spock! He's so old and cool...
The heating failed and we all tried to huddle under a single duvet we found in the attic. In what was, tragically, a genuine accident:
Him: What the bloody hell is that?!
Me: My breast, you ingrate!
Him: Oh. Err...sorry...
At a certain point, hunckered in a pub to hide from the rain, two of us coughing and dying of the smoke, one of us indifferent and one of us lighting up in relief, the following, and most disturbing conversation occurred:
Him: Baby, vodka muh.
Her: But muh sickies beans.
Him: ...Muh?
Her: Muh...
Him: [sigh] Muh.
Sickening, correct?
Now, I admit to being biased. I've never quite understood the pet-names phenomenon. If someone tries to "hey, baby" me, I tend to start laughing hysterically. But, you know, I'm not one to judge. I could even put up with the ludicrous pet-language displayed above, if not for one thing.
It's spreading.
Behold - I will translate the above conversation:
Him: Baby, can I have another drink?
Her: You know if you drink much more you're just going to end up being sick all night like last time.
Him: But I really, really want one...
Her: Well, I can't stop you, but you know I'm right.
Him: [sigh] Okay...I bow to your greater wisdom.
I am now fluent in the language of Muh. And it's not just me. There are at least two others (aside from the infectious couple mentioned above) who have been corrupted.
At the moment, we are teetering on the brink of sanity and salvagability. We speak Muh, but only in sarcasm. Still, conversations like the one below are becoming increasingly common:
Me: Muh cards, muh?
Her: But Simpsons, beans!
(Meaning, "Do you want to play cards?" "Yes, but not until after The Simpsons.")
I'm worried. One day, I fear I will wake up with English erased and only Muh remaining.
If you ever arrive here to find something like this -
Muh blog beans, week muh!
- you will know it's too late for me. If this ever happens, please do the honourable thing and hunt me down and kill me...
