Put me in any conversation group, and I struggle to fight back my pronunciation anxiety. Scarred as I was at an early age over putting the emphasis on the wrong syllable in "trombone", embarrased by ancestors who couldn't say "Bahamas", and rated deficient by library patrons whenever names of composers were required, I need the Epi-pen equivalent of a mispronunciation antidote. Just jab it into my thigh!
Students of the Eleusinian Mysteries seem to disagree whether to say ur-guht or ur-got when discussing a disease of rye and other cereals caused by fungus. Ergot is not part of the ecstasy induced by including Rye Chex in cereal krunch.
Stepping out of my car onto somebody's Valentine chocolate caramel did not fill me with ecstasy, either. In our staff meetings this week, pronunciation did not appear on agendas, but showed up anyway. Smart phones were consulted over the pronunciation of "caramel". Who knew workplace diversity meant including people who say it with three syllables?
And then there's the "pecan" divide! I thought Billy Crystal was the only person who partakes of pee-can pie.
|Oak Point peh-cahns|
I hope the staff will accept me for who I am, the only person on earth who says "caramelled apples" instead of "caramel apples".
© 2014 Nancy L. Ruder