I spent a good part of my life thinking sloe gin was alcohol that took a long time to get drunk on.
My niece read the entire book of Gone With the Wind thinking Melanie was pronounced as Meh-lawn'-ie.
And my dad spent his later years calling UPS trucks "ups trucks," as in ups and downs, and calling the impatiens flowers he planted along the back of the house, his im-pat'-i-ens.
In most of these cases, someone would eventually laugh and ask what the hell we were talking about. But occassionally, like with our Dad and the UPS trucks and the impatiens growing in the back yard, friends--or daughters in his case--would say nothing thinking we were being nice.
I'm pretty sure my girls haven't corrected me on a lot of things in the past too. But so far it seems to relate mainly to the internet or smart phones and hasn't been done out of kindness. Rather, they liked to keep me a litttle bit out of the loop because it gave them a bit more freedom to roam uncensored.
I didn't really mind because I wasn't all that eager to learn and I knew what they were doing. Kind of a double head fake.
But lately I've begun to worry that they'll start doing it out of kindness, and that I won't know, and will just keep asking people about their "twitters" or their "internets".
I'm beginning to think we shouldn't have done it with Dad--that we should have been upfront rather than snickering behind his back. That it was our own daftness and delusion in thinking we were being nice.
It's all made me think about a pact I made long ago with a friend to slip some pills in each others metamucil if we ever got so delusional that we weren't able to enjoy life. I find myself avoiding her these days. Because what if she gets delusional first, and in her delusion thinks its time to slip those pills in my drink.
There's little comfort in getting old. Even when people are trying to be nice.