When Rachel Harrie says challenge, she means it. For our first Crusader Challenge, she wants us to use filuguline in a sentence (no, this one doesn’t count). I looked it up on Dictionary.com and it wasn’t there. That’s like the time I went on Wikipedia to delete its personal Wikipedia page because it makes the universe divide by zero.
Anyone who doesn’t know what that means, I’m sorry, but there’s just no help for you.
Sorry, sorry. I have a problem with foot-in-mouth disease. I try to joke and go too far. It’s especially a problem online because people can’t hear your tone. It’s embarrassing to tell this, but once in a chat, I told someone to “Just ignore the annoying pests!” in reference to her parents (in all fairness, I really meant my parents). I don’t blame her for being insulted. Of course, I apologized immediately—I have the sense to realize when I’ve gone too far, usually right after I hit enter and freeze like a rabbit under a hunter’s flashlight beam because yes, I really did type that. But I still think it came off like I was trying to bloviate like some know it all rather than commiserate (which just makes me think that if you use bloviate in a sentence, it’s impossible to not sound like you’re bloviating). And while water may roll off a duck’s back, humans seem to lack this filuguline feature.
Words cut sharper than any blade. That’s why I love my cats. Words are meaningless to them! It’s odd that I’m compelled to look up the origins of words and go nuts when they are used improperly (or worse, combined into a useless new form—ginormous; ugh), yet my favorite creatures don’t understand the essence of “words.”
Okay, that’s all for me today. But perhaps something I said above isn’t true…
