Did you ever hear a string of words coming out of your mouth and then wish you could inhale them back in before they reached anyone else’s ears? Not because you want to savor them but because they didn’t come out the way they should have?
I’m not referring to rude or hurtful comments or words that come back to bite us; just words that inadvertently come out the wrong way—maybe the wrong metaphor or worse, an unsavory one.
I heard both within just a few seconds on this morning’s local news.
The local NBC news team was doing a segment on the DC101 Chili Cook-Off, coming up in Washington on May 21st. In advance of the annual event, WRC, the local NBC affiliate, held a promotional chili tasting in the NBC cafeteria.
Setting up the piece, WRC anchor Kimberly Suiters announced to viewers that seeing all the chili “will wet your whistle.”
I assume—I hope—she knew as soon as she uttered those words that what she meant to say was “whet your appetite.” I’ve never known chili to wet one’s whistle. Water wets a whistle or, metaphorically speaking, quenches one’s thirst. Honest mistake, but also an opportunity to point out here that it is whet one’s appetite, not wet one’s appetite. FYI, to whet is to sharpen or to stimulate.
Suiters then threw it to reporter Jim Handly, who surely cringed when he heard himself announce that the Cook-Off would feature “chili out the wazoo.” Not exactly a visual DC101 was aiming for, I suspect.
I vote for giving these two metaphorical mulligans.
It turns out that no grocery or drug store in my area carries them. The ones my husband found were available for a limited time for the holiday. I started making special trips out to find them and with each failure to score came worsening withdrawal. A friend gave me a tip that they’re available at the movies, which was going to be my next tactic.
Shall we go over “assure” versus “ensure” versus “insure?” It must be confusing to some, so let’s give it a shot. Those who already know this can skip ahead to today’s assignment.*
But tonight we feast. Whether attending a pancake supper in a church hall, as I will, or stumbling along Bourbon Street in one last bender, trading bare flesh for shiny plastic beads, as others will, this is our last hurrah.
This isn’t because I’m not enjoying Wicked. On the contrary, it’s because I am.
Here’s how it works. Each player brings a one-pound Chipotle or Qdoba burrito to the race, to serve as his or her baton.
Upon waking this morning, I pulled my copy of The Cheese Course off the shelf. This book is mostly about the preparation of cheese dishes, but there’s an introductory section I found amusing. Author Janet Fletcher wrote in 2000 that “We Americans are clearly in the midst of a cheese revolution.” How did I miss that? Also, I’m fairly certain, if I were editing this book, that I’d have found a better place for the discussion about cutting the cheese than in the Cheese Etiquette section.
This said, I tread lightly into the language of wine. This might be because I have not been exposed to the business of wine.
I imagine tours of the nation’s Presidential libraries are full today, and there are events going on here in the nation’s capital to mark the holiday.
Word Nymph 
