People in the Midwest and Northeast have been hunkering down lately, thanks to the harsh winters and major snowstorms blowing through the area, blanketing them in several inches of snow.
We’ve also been feeling the chill in Florida, with daytime temps in the 50s and overnights reaching freezing. That’s not as cold as what you’re dealing with up north, but Floridians in winter are like when your husband gets a cold: They’re near death, no one has felt worse than them, and they won’t shut up about it.
And before anyone says, "So much for global warming, eh?" let me save you from sounding like an idiot. For one thing, it hasn’t been called "global warming" since 2002, when a Republican strategist told George W. Bush to call it "climate change" instead.
So avoid sounding 24 years out of touch when you try to flirt with your barista and say, "So much for global warming, eh?" She’s only smiling to be nice.
But back to my original statement, special thanks to Jeff Stanger, a fellow Hoosier humorist (Hoomerist? Husier?), for reminding me that you are all hunkering down.
Or is it hunker downing?
Are you hunker downers? Or hunkers down? If we have attorneys general, then what do we call a group of people engaged in the act of hunker downing?
I know some English-language smarty pants is going to say, "Well, actually, it’s 'hunkering down,’ like you said, so don’t get silly." But I have a word count I have to meet, so save it.
The word "hunker" likely comes from the Old Norse word "hūka," or the Middle Dutch word "huiken," and it migrated to the Scots language in the 1700s as "hunkeren." It refers to the act of squatting on one’s haunches, which pretty much no one can do after the age of 40.
It’s similar to the term "batten down the hatches," which also means to prepare for a difficult situation, although it comes to us as a nautical term. Back in the old days, sailing ships had hatches, which were openings in the deck that allowed for ventilation and loading cargo. They were either left open or had a wooden grating over them.
But if a storm was coming, you had to cover the hatches with waterproofed canvas, or the ship would sink. Then you would nail long, thin strips of wood — battens — over the edges of the canvas to create a seal against the water.
Thus, your hatches were battened down, and you and your men would live to get scurvy another day.
In addition to "hunker down," Scotland has given us several other words, including two that rhyme with the word "purple," and neither of them is "nurple."
There’s "curple," which refers to the backside of a horse, or the curved part of the rump. It’s also used to refer to a person’s backside. And there’s "hirple," which means to limp or hobble.
As in "The ice is so slippery, I fell on my curple, and it’s turning purple. So now I have to hurple around the house."
So if a friend ever bets you five bucks that there’s no rhyme for the word "purple," hirple over and show them your purple curple. I just helped you win five bucks.
Orange is another word that supposedly has no rhyme, so while your friend is still reeling from the whole purple curple thing, tell them "double or nothing," and bet them that you know a rhyme for that as well.
The word in question is "sporange," which is an old botany word that refers to the sporangium, which is the part of a fern or fungus that produces spores. It’s a bit dated, but the Oxford English Dictionary says it’s legitimate, and your friend now owes you another ten bucks.
While we’re on the subject, sheep farmers know a word that rhymes with silver, another supposedly non-rhyming word, and that is "chilver," which refers to a female lamb. So there’s another five dollars you can win from your friend. This is what happens when you don’t expand your English vocabulary beyond the eighth grade.
Your friend may say, "Oh, those are just made-up words," and try to weasel out of your bet. Remind them that all words are made-up. It’s not like Moses brought down a copy of Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary from Mount Sinai.
He didn’t bring us a bunch of words carved into stone tablets. Every word written here — in fact, every word you ever used — is a made-up word. So, tell your friend to stop patting themselves on the back because they think they tricked you out by accusing you of using made-up words.
You just won 20 dollars thanks to some esoteric language knowledge, courtesy of yours truly. Which means next time we’re together, you bet your sweet curple you’re buying lunch.
Photo credit: michasekdzi (Pixabay, Creative Commons 0)
My new humor novel, Mackinac Island Nation, is finished and available from 4 Horsemen Publications. You can get the ebook and print versions here.