An extended family member used to call that black or white painted decorative metal that adorns fences and often comprises garden furniture, “wrauth iron”. It’s wrought iron I know, but she put a “T” and an “H” where there should’ve been a hard “T”.
As kids, my nieces called the general term for baubles, bangles and beads, “jowrie”. As in, rhymes with Lori.
A now deceased aunt always insisted on making a strawberry “Jallo” salad.
My father has always called barbecue sauce, “sop”. Why? I have no idea. I know what the word means and I think my father did to, but he could have called it sauce, but no…it was “sop. Must be a Texas thang.
I had a teacher who taught me Health in Junior High. When discussing the Four Basic Food Groups, she insisted that I eat one-six ounce serving of “protyenn” every day. She turned “protein” in to a three syllable word.
She also turned that class into a snooze fest.
A friend calls that condensed professional bio that we give prospective employers a resume. Looks right in print, but she pronounces it res-you-may.
My mother told me a story once about her grandmother and how she’d read to her. She apparently had a very dynamic personality and would put a great deal of theater in all her reading sessions. My mother loved the added drama and listened with wide eyed enthusiasm as my great grandmother read her the exploits of “Taranza”.
Not Tarzan; but Taranza.
My paternal grandmother was a lovely genteel, Southern woman. She had the damnedest Southern accent, and as I learned years ago, that lovely mode of speech is really a bastardized version of that which is spoken in Britannia.
She’d say words like:
- bread and buttuh
And of course the one thing that I, a Libertine in my younger days, never did and that was “act propuh”.
But she loved me unconditionally and she’d always call me “Sweet Sugah”. The words flowed from her like that, too. I loved hearing her speak. It was soft and gentle and it sounded safe to me, although I didn’t always understand exactly what she was saying.
Unlike my mother who never failed to properly enunciate the word “disappointment”.
I miss my grandmother.