Language, like everything else, changes with time. Sometimes I’m brought up short by realizing a word that I’ve used all my life doesn’t make sense to a younger generation. I’m out-of-date, not hip, and am an old fuddy-duddy.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.
Now, a heroine in a mystery would never tape a conversation to be used against an unsuspecting bad guy. Everything now is digital. If I don’t enjoy an outing, I certainly should remember not to 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.
When I was a teen, nobody wanted to be called a square. Before that, being a square shooter meant that you were honest and dependable, somebody to count on. So, what does square mean now? Probably back to the original meaning of a four-sided figure of equal length.
If 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 as much sense to me as Carter has little liver pills.
I never used the word davenport. Anyway, if I want to jot down something secret, my shorthand still comes in handy. After all these years, I still remember it!
I still use shorthand too. It gets grooved in and doesn’t ever leave.