By Maggie Rascal
Some words that don’t exist, really ought to.
“The word is ‘peppier,’ pronounced ‘pep-ee-ay’,” announced the spelling bee moderator.
“Definition, please,” replied the entrant, launching by rote into the set of questions she had been taught to ask.
“One who grinds spice onto a diner’s food at a restaurant.”
“What is the origin?”
“‘Peppier’ is faux French.”
“Faux French?”
“Yes, that is, it is not truly a French word, but rather a made-up word pronounced in French fashion.”
“Oh, I see. Can you use it in a sentence, please?”
“Pepé, a pretentious, portly peppier with a prominent proboscis, was particularly parsimonious in peppering, his pharaonic phallus producing a paltry portion of the precious provision over my pappardelle pasta.”
“His pharaonic phallus? You do realize I’m in seventh grade, don’t you?”
“Our apologies. We can repeat the sentence without the offending terminology if you wish.”
“No thank you, that won’t be necessary. Peppier: P-E-P-P-I-E-R.”
“Congratulations, that is correct. Please take a seat with the others who have advanced.
“The next word is ‘hinge’; it rhymes with ‘thing’…”
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© 2012 by M.P. Witwer • All rights reserved