Thursday, September 23, 2010

Thank Heaven It Wasn't Cucumbers

There are words for everything these days.

Like Eskimo descriptions of snow (or Inuit/Yupic, if you want to get ‘igloo anal’), they proliferate and multiply.

The very best are beautifully interchangeable — yet, on reflection, resolutely specific. Bollocks and balls are not the same things at all.

So what am I to do with this phenomenon, for which there is, as yet, no words?

You return from the supermarket clutching fresh sweetcorn, thinking, “can’t wait to have this for tea” — then put it in the fridge and forget about it.

Next time you’re in the supermarket, you see more sweetcorn and think, “bloody hell! That sweetcorn in the fridge! I bet it’s gone off by now.” So you buy it and put it in the fridge, only to discover the original sweetcorn is perfectly OK.

As you’re flipping through Jamie Oliver’s What To Do With More Effing Sweetcorn Than You Can Actually Eat, Let Alone Cook, your partner appears with a bulging shopping basket and announces, “look at this for a bargain. Two packs of sweetcorn for the price of one!”

It’s on the tip of my tongue, the word for this. But I’m too busy screaming ARGHHHH! ARGGGGHHH! ARGGGGHHHH! to place it.


fairyhedgehog said...

You might want something more specific than ARGHHHH!

Does "Sod's Law" cover it?

Old Kitty said...


Best to buy tinned. They last about a year.

Take care

blogless troll said...

I don't know what you call the process, but what you have there--the sweetcorn in this case-- are misrecollectibles.

blogless troll said...

I think there's a song about them.

Or if not, there should be.

Whirlochre said...

Shrunken Trouser Shrubbery Sniffer of Sorcery
Sod's Law has probably burst all over it.

Old Kitty
Sounds like a continental ice cream.

You write it, I'll sing it.

stacy said...

Whirl, I empathize. I live in Indiana, and we are a HUGE producer of corn. It's everywhere, and I think since I've been back I've had it every other day.

So I guess what I'm saying is, if I ever show up on your doorstep, please don't serve me sweetcorn.

Whirlochre said...

Rest assured, when people turn up on my doorstep, I generally bend over backwards not to serve them sweetcorn...

Dayana Stockdale said...

something like force maybe. we force ourselves to buy things we think we want to eat, only to discover that no, we don't want to eat them.