Don’t even pretend you’ve never experienced and/or displayed this one.

You know you have.

Probably when you were hungry (i.e. hangry = the state of being hungry and angry all at once).

Or maybe when you’ve just had “one of those days.” You know the ones: when you lose things, the dog gets out, the children get sick, the deadline looms, and you just can’t take one more thing slipping sideways on you.

What is alharaca, anyway?

(n.) an extraordinary or violent emotional reaction to something small and insignificant.

Can you say hissy-fit?

Photo by Fox Film Corporation via Wikimedia Commons.

Embarrassing as a moment of alharaca can be in hindsight, we’ve all been there. You don’t have to be Nellie Olsen, Miss Piggy, or the Queen of Hearts; even the least drama-queen-like of us farmgirls can relate.

As a wise woman once said, “Pardon me while I overreact irrationally.”

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What the heck? What kind of a word is this? It sounds like the name of a Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show winner.

“Here, Lord Bumfuzzle, let’s trim the fluff before the talent portion!”

photo by Blackoranges via Wikimedia Commons

Well, if you’re confused, you’re not far off from the actual description.

Origin: Bumfuzzle comes from bum-, an expressive prefix, perhaps to be identified with the initial syllable of bamboozle, and fuzzle “to confuse,” perhaps expressive alteration of fuddle. It’s been used in English since around 1900.

Definitions for bumfuzzle

• Chiefly South Midland and Southern U.S., to confuse or fluster.

“This holyfied lady’s jest tryin’ to bumfuzzle us.”
– Joan Hess, Mischief in Maggody, 1988

“This is an attempt to bumfuzzle,” said the President.
– William Safire, “On Language: The Way We Live Now,” New York Times Magazine, November 14, 1999

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While you may or may not be guilty of this egregious and oh-so-grievous sin, you probably have been in close proximity to one who has.

So close.

So very, very close.

Close enough for them to step on your sore feet, willy-nilly.

BALTER

intransitive verb

archaic

1. :  to dance or tread clumsily

Photo by Tomascastelazo via Wikimedia Commons.

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Are you one? A nemophilist, that is?

I suspect you are.

No, it’s not a lover of the little fish from the Pixar film, though we like him, too.

Photo by zannaland via Wikimedia Commons.

Here’s a hint:

photo by Jason Sturner – Rockefeller Forest, Humboldt Redwoods State Park – Coast Redwood (Sequoia sempervirens) via Wikimedia Commons

nemophilist

Ne`moph´i`list

NOUN

• A person who loves or is fond of woods or forests.

Origin

Mid 19th century; earliest use found in The Atlantic Monthly.

Ah ha! A lover of woods and forests. Fireplace smoke, pinecones, needle-coated hiking trails, shady glens, and majestic firs … what’s not to love?

Hi, my name’s MaryJane, and I’m a nemophilist.

There is no cure.

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Was your first love one of these? Have you ever found yourself crushing on one when you yourself were just a girl?

Hobbledehoy

Pronunciation: hob–uh l-dee-hoi

n. “clumsy, ungainly, or awkward youth”

1530s, of uncertain origin. First element is probably hob in its sense of “clown, prankster” (hobgoblin), the second element perhaps is Middle French de haye “worthless, untamed, wild,” literally “of the hedge.”

Image by State Library of New South Wales Collection via Wikimedia Commons.

There’s something inherently loveable about a hobbledehoy, isn’t there?

After all, wasn’t Gilbert Blythe a bit of a hobbledehoy when he first met Anne with an E?

Probably all the great tall, dark, and handsome figures in our daydreams were clumsy, perpetually awkward youths … once upon a time.

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Samson might inspire this in you, ladies … or Fabio. Possibly Jennifer Aniston … or Carrot Top. Marge Simpson, definitely. Crystal Gale? For sure.

book cover by Katalin Szegedi via Wikimedia Commons

Cafune

What is it? By now, you’ve figured out it’s something to do with the follicles atop one’s head. Specifically,

(n.) running your fingers through the hair of someone you love.
Pronunciation: ka-FOO-nay

So, it begs the question, do balding men inspire the same kind of odd behavior in those of us smitten with them? If we can’t run our fingers through the hairs of our beloveds, will a nice rub or caress do the trick?

Photo by Gage Skidmore via Wikimedia Commons.

Someone get Mrs. Bruce Willis on the phone. Tell her it’s an emergency of the cafune type.

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sockdologer

One who dabbles in … er, sock collecting?

One who loves socks a bit too much?

Photo by Shuminweb via Wikimedia Commons.

noun, Older Slang.

1. something unusually large, heavy, etc.
2. a decisive reply, argument, etc.
3. a heavy, finishing blow:

Example: His right jab is a real sockdolager.

In other words, it’s a real doozy of a closing argument, getting the last word, or in today’s slang, a mic drop.

Lest we find ourselves giggling too much at our funny-sounding new word, let me bring you some sorrowful solemnity: sockdologising likely was nearly the last word President Abraham Lincoln ever heard. During the performance of Tom Taylor’s “Our American Cousin,” assassin John Wilkes Booth (who knew the play well) waited for the laughline,

“Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, you sockdologising old mantrap!” 

Amid the noise as the audience responded in laughter and applause, Booth fired the fatal shot.

Sniffle. Well, now it’s my heart that feels unusually heavy … almost sockdolager-esque you could say.

Lincoln in ‘thinking pose’, 1862, via Wikimedia Commons

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What’s that smell? No, not the stuff in the silo (silage)—that distinct odor of fermenting corn or hay—but that lovely, faint, lingering scent …

sillage

Pronunciation:
[sil-ij]

(n.) the scent that lingers in air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone; the trace of someone’s perfume.

Origin:
French, literally, wake/trail

A poetical word, to be sure, when romancing over a love long-gone.

But perhaps you find sillage in other places and spaces …

… like when you pull up in your car to pick up your children from school and they sense the lingering aroma of the cheeseburger you wolfed down a moment earlier. Suspicion arises.

That kind of sillage … not so poetical.

Or when you move into a new house and smell the persistent bouquet of a woman’s perfume. But only at midnight. On Halloween.

Thanks to that type of sillage, you now know to pack up and move once again.

How about the sillage of your grandmother’s hand lotion, your dad’s motor oil, or the scent of a new baby’s scalp?

Only the nose knows.

Photo by Angela Andriot via Wikimedia Commons

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What is it?

No, I’m not suffering from a bout of sudden-onset backwardsness.

But, it is a backwards question mark. A percontation point, if you will.

When would you use such a thing? Oh, far more often than you might think …

For instance: when feeling a bit snappy, a might peckish, a tad sarcastic, or a wee bit snarky.

It’s something called irony punctuation, and it’s a form of notation used to denote sarcasm.

Um, yes, please.

No need to insert an eye-rolling emoji, a #sarcasm, or an explanation for your text in the form of parentheses any longer.

You may think that this is a newfangled, modern-day addition to our English language and punctuation, but you’d be wrong. The percontation point was invented by English printer Henry Denham in the 1580s. And we thought we were the most sarcastic of the generations … all hail, Grandad Snark!

You can use the percontation point (sometimes called the irony mark) as you see fit. In a way, it’s used to sneakily admit there is more to your writing than meets the eye. A sarcastic layer of meaning might have been missed the first time through.

Essentially, it’s a grammar tool used to make the not-so-perky reader feel even less perky. Now, if I could only find it on my keyboard. #percontation point!

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