“Do you want some fresh green peas?” I asked Klara.
“I will not partake of these vulgar amusements!” she bellowed, and everybody at the grocery store looked at me, wondering what kind of weirdo I was.
She’s in the Anne of Green Gables stage, and her vocabulary shows it.
Hahaha!
That’s a good one :)
My kids have the vivifying produce. “Hey, should we get fresh broccoli?” ”Well… is it *vivifying produce*!?” they say, excitedly.
This is a long-running joke about the Greeks’ habits of extremely literal translation, and the Orthros antiphons. Around that same time they also picked up the lovely phrase “cutting sword of torments”– which my preschooler somehow misheard as “potting soil of torments” and ever since then, each spring, when it’s time to pot up seedlings for the garden… they go loudly on about the POTTING SOIL OF TORMENTS all through the garden section of the store.
Yeah, people look at us like we’re aliens. I’m, uh… proudly mortified.
Hellish flour. Doesn’t sound nearly as intimidating.
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Me at a young age upon being presented with shrimp:
“Away with these vile creatures of Abaddon, they stink of the Infernal Hells!”
My mother decided I should spend less time around a relative who worked for one of the more virulent forms of Baptist Christianity. :-)
A subsequent allergy test confirmed that shrimp could very likely send me to those Infernal Hells, so there’s that.
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A conservative literary critic and college professor
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