I grew up on farm with a rather dichotomous upbringing that included hauling hay bales and scooping stalls as well as lessons in curtsying, walking with books on my head to correct my exuberant gait, intellectual dinner discussions and a father who must have said at least a million times “Food is done! People are finished!”. God forbid I should ask if my sister was “done” with that book. Yeesh.

The Queen’s manners and the King’s English were expected at all times…except when you were using a post hole digger..actually, even then. So imagine my dismay when my fiance uttered this eggcorn…”pacifically” for “specifically”. All my years of military training in English usage kicked in before I could get control of myself. I was aghast, appalled! How could I marry this cretin?? My verbal dander was up, and the roseate aura surrounding me was falling away. Thinking that maybe this was an attempt at humor, I asked him, “Are you sure you don’t mean “atlantically”?…His puzzled expression only confirming that this was no joke. I imagined pained dinner conversation at Christmas where I would have to take a Xanax to keep myself from imploding with anxiety over his potential use of this eggcorn. My parents would immediately tell me to dump him. There would be tears and vociferous defenses of my loved one while I secretly wondered about him myself.

This is really only slightly over the top. My father corrected my perfect English for 42 years until one Christmas all four-plus decades of nit-picking just became one nit too many. I blew. I was angry, he was hurt. We eventually got over it. Poetic license became my new mantra. However, although I grew to convince myself that my fiance’s eggcorn was just a quirky little part of who he was and loved him for a long time, we are no longer affianced. Was it the fault of the eggcorn? Who can say?

I grew up on farm with a rather dichotomous upbringing that included hauling hay bales and scooping stalls as well as lessons in curtsying, walking with books on my head to correct my exuberant gait, intellectual dinner discussions and a father who must have said at least a million times “Food is done! People are finished!”. God forbid I should ask if my sister was “done” with that book. Yeesh.

The Queen’s manners and the King’s English were expected at all times…except when you were using a post hole digger..actually, even then. So imagine my dismay when my fiance uttered this eggcorn…”pacifically” for “specifically”. All my years of military training in English usage kicked in before I could get control of myself. I was aghast, appalled! How could I marry this cretin?? My verbal dander was up, and the roseate aura surrounding me was falling away. Thinking that maybe this was an attempt at humor, I asked him, “Are you sure you don’t mean “atlantically”?…His puzzled expression only confirming that this was no joke. I imagined pained dinner conversation at Christmas where I would have to take a Xanax to keep myself from imploding with anxiety over his potential use of this eggcorn. My parents would immediately tell me to dump him. There would be tears and vociferous defenses of my loved one while I secretly wondered about him myself.

This is really only slightly over the top. My father corrected my perfect English for 42 years until one Christmas all four-plus decades of nit-picking just became one nit too many. I blew. I was angry, he was hurt. We eventually got over it. Poetic license became my new mantra. However, although I grew to convince myself that my fiance’s eggcorn was just a quirky little part of who he was and loved him for a long time, we are no longer affianced. Was it the fault of the eggcorn? Who can say?