Trouble Is That People Slur Their Words

One of the disappointing aspects of our time is that we don’t take nearly as much care in what we do as our parents and grandparents did. Pride in performance isn’t what it used to be and lackadaisical traits slop over into personal habits.

For several years I’ve noticed people don’t bother to speak as distinctly as they did only a few years ago. One of the worst offenders is my wife. This is a mystery because she normally is most meticulous in everything she does.

Lately, she mumbles a lot and slurs some words so badly I’ve thought of suggesting she see a doctor. We had an incident at breakfast a few days ago. She was at her end of the table, reading the paper. I was reading the sports section at my end.

“Did you need the story about President Clinton?” she asked.

“Why would I need a story about President Clinton?” I asked.

“I didn’t say ‘need,”’ she replied. “I said ‘read.’ R-E-A-D.”

“It sounded like ‘need’ to me,” I said. “What does the story about President Clinton say?”

“It says he’s getting a hearing aid.”

“I knew he has a terrible memory,” I said. “I didn’t know he had a hearing problem.”

“I don’t think he’s the only one,” she replied.

I changed the subject. I’ve learned to ignore unfair editorial comments. It’s not my fault her diction has gone to pot.

She got a telephone call from her niece at the University of Georgia.

“What did Chesley want?” I asked when she hung up the phone.

“She called to tell us she’s getting mad.”

“What’s Chesley getting mad about?” I asked.

“Not mad,” she answered in a voice I thought overly loud. “She’s getting married. M-A-R-R-I-ED. Like when two people are joined in holy matrimony.”

When you’re dealing with people who mumble and slur, it’s particularly difficult to understand them over a telephone. When she gets tied up at her office, my wife often calls me to run an errand.

“Would you mind running by the grocery and picking up a few strings?” she asked.

“Of course I don’t mind,” I answered. “But if you need strings, I can do better at the hardware store.”

“Who said anything about strings? I said ‘things.’ T-H-I-N-G-S!”

I’m sure she said “strings,” not “things,” but we all know how difficult it is to argue with a woman who thinks you’re the one who fouled up.

Every time she mumbles a word I can’t understand, she tells me I need a hearing aid. If I needed a hearing aid, I’d get one, although I’ve personally never known anyone who has one that works.

“I’m tired of being your interpreter,” she complained. “I can’t enjoy a movie when every other word, you’re asking me what they said.”

It is true I can’t decipher those English actors on public television, but being unable to understand a snobby foreign language doesn’t bother me all that much.

Teenagers are difficult. They talk too fast, run words together and don’t bother completing any word that’s more than five letters long. I suppose they will grow out of it. The problem is so many of them are waitresses and waiters.

We had a serious miscommunication when we went out to dinner.

“I sure didn’t know you like broccoli,” my wife remarked after the waitress had taken our orders.

“Of course I don’t like broccoli,” I replied. “I hate broccoli. It ought to be against the law. Whatever makes you think I like it?”

“You told our waitress you love it.”

“She didn’t say anything about broccoli,” I replied. “She asked about chocolate.”

When a big serving of broccoli showed up on my plate, she tried to use the incident as evidence against me in her case for a hearing aid.

“You can’t hear anything in a crowd,” she claimed. “You never know what’s being said at a cocktail party.”

“Nothing worth hearing at a cocktail party,” I argued.

“That’s true,” she admitted. “But it was rather expensive when you agreed to pay $100 to a fund-raiser for a politician you didn’t even vote for.

“If a sexy hunk like Bill Clinton can wear a hearing aid, certainly you shouldn’t mind.”

“I hope I didn’t hear what I think I heard!” I exclaimed.

I’ve long suspected my wife of voting for Clinton. All she will say is we have a secret ballot in this country, and I haven’t pursued the issue. Some things are best not known.

Bill Clinton. First, he raises my taxes and now he’s trying to make me get a hearing aid. xxxx