This morning, I read a list of words that I should remember not to use. They date me. They announce to my hearers or readers that I’m out-of-date, not hip, and am an old fuddy-duddy. Never should I say my sofa is a davenport. By the way, I don’t make long-distance calls any more, or if I do, I shouldn’t admit to it. I can call anywhere for the same price. Nor do I dial a phone. We all know that, don’t we? If I could just remember not to say so.
I can’t have my heroine tape a conversation to be used against an unsuspecting bad guy. Everything now is digital. If I don’t enjoy an outing, I certainly shouldn’t be a wet blanket and spoil the day for everyone else.
(Sigh) Sometimes I feel like Gregg Shorthand, that neat little way of writing that took up a couple of years of high school and college. It isn’t needed any more, you know.
It’s rather shocking to be brought up abruptly against a cold, hard fact. That happens. I used well curb in one of my stories and found that I even had to explain that term to my loyal group of Cozy Critters. Another word the Critters were unsure of,that still is a part of my vocabulary is cruising. My heroine went cruising down the road in her SUV and nobody knew what she was doing.
I’m not with it; I must be a real square, just not hip at all. I think there are as many out-dated phrases that still make sense to me as Carter has little liver pills.
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