In my own skin: I admit it. I had a lifelong affair. | Guest speakers

I had a long-term affair.

This is a romance novel where the words are written and spoken, and I hate seeing and hearing people ruin my romance. But they do it. You’ve long read in this column about my distaste for those who misspell, speak incorrectly, and completely distort the art of good communication. But I am attracted not only to people, but also to euphemisms. Why can’t we just say what we mean without pretending and dancing around anything that’s even remotely negative?

Over six years ago, I wrote about euphemisms and things we say that don’t make sense. Let me return to this topic because it definitely warrants a revisit. I’ll start by first turning to insurance and financial services professionals who, when helping you plan for your estate, often say, “If something happens to you.” What will happen, a hangnail? Why can’t they just say, “When are you going to die?” After all, that’s what they mean. We will all die, every one of us. No one gets out of this life alive, so while you’re having an adult conversation about your estate, let’s all say “DIE!” Not “walk away”, “cash in your chips”, “die” (which to me always sounded like someone just passing you on the street for a minute) or “buying a farm”. (and as I said years ago, why would anyone buy rural property if it’s dead)? Financial as well as medical staff, forced to deliver bad news, talk about “getting their affairs in order.” Does this mean telling Mimi she won’t get anything, leaving Viv’s BMW, and not telling his wife about Mimi or Viv?

We show the same ridiculous reticence when we talk about accidents, hospitals and medical emergencies. “They rushed him to the hospital.” Do you really expect an ambulance to drive slowly? Can you imagine reading: “Mildred Maniple was involved in a three-car accident and suffered serious life-threatening injuries. “Rescue vehicles were slow to respond to the scene, stopping for coffee along the way before proceeding to the emergency department at the speed limit.”

What about the joy of childbirth? “They went to the hospital and brought home a brand new baby.” New baby? I don’t think they have any old ones there. Now here’s my personal favorite. “She gave birth to a jumping boy.” Who are they kidding? Ask any woman who has had a natural birth, they don’t “jump out”. It’s more like pushing a watermelon through an exhaust pipe.

Growing up, I never understood the ridiculous euphemisms we use for bathrooms. Europeans have no problem saying: “I need to go to the toilet.” Us? No way. We go to the “toilet”. Have you ever seen a bed there? No one sleeps in the toilet! They do what people do when they go to the toilet and then quickly exit. No idleness, who wants? How about a “men’s room” or a “women’s room”? You might as well rule this out entirely, as there are shared bathrooms in some places. There’s also a bit of hoopla (a euphemism for “dirty fight”) about a new bill about to be voted on in Congress.

Check this out.

Continuing, let’s talk about your nephew who never seems to be able to get a job. You just saw him at the Thanksgiving table, and before he could tell you the reason why he was getting unemployment again, his mother intervened and told everyone, “Poor Jeffy got laid off again.” Fired? It makes such a stupid sense, like someone pulled you from a height and laid you straight on your back on the cement.

While we’re there, how about “under the weather”? When I was a child, I was always sick and missed school all the time. My mother would have to call the principal’s office and report that I had mumps, a sore throat, or a stomach virus. She never said I had “bad weather,” because if I had a fever and chills, why would I stand outside in a rain cloud or snowstorm?

I saved the best for last. Sex. Sex! Let’s now all say together: “sex!” Why do they call it “sleeping together?” If you are “rolling in the hay”, “doing it”, or enjoying the “midday delight”, you are absolutely not sleeping!

Well, that’s it from your vertically-challenged columnist.

Rona Mann was a freelance writer for The Sun newspaper for 23 years, including her In Their Shoes articles. She can be reached at [email protected] or 401-539-7762.