Annie Dear: Now that this is written, I’m off to the euphemism

I was just thinking the other day what a wonderful thing a euphemism is. For those giving me the dog-hearing-a-high-pitched-whistle look, that’s the term for a word you use to save embarrassment, either to yourself or to your listener.

It’s a way of imparting something not terribly pleasant in the nicest possible way.

Take for instance the act of dying. Now we all have to do it, some time or another – there’s just no getting around it. While I know this is no laughing matter as really nothing gets more serious, the terms used for such an act can all be a bit twee really. “Since Daddy passed, we’ve so enjoyed not being beaten.” Passed what, I ask? A final exam? Gas, perhaps?

Shakespeare had a most poetic way of putting it – as he should, being a poet and all – and I do quite like the thought that I might “shuffle off this mortal coil” someday, rather than “kick the bucket,” or like a couple of the more colorful ones “check out the grass from underneath” or indeed that I would “assume room temperature.” I think a nice little shuffle sounds far more peaceful – even quite dignified – don’t you?

Think of any bodily function, and I’ll bet there is a euphemism for it.

Sex is another act which attracts its fair share of more socially acceptable alternatives. One can be intimate, go all the way or indulge in hanky panky, but I doubt there is one quite so descriptive as “doing the horizontal folk dance.” It makes me chuckle just visualizing it. All those polka skirts flaring about.

But it must be the bathroom – and what one does in it – that warrants the gold medal in the euphemism Olympics. There are just so many in fact that my oldest friend, ES, came up with the phrase that he was “just going off to the euphemism.”

Think about it. Even we Americans have our own peculiar one in that we ask for the “restroom;” Canadians tend to ask for the “washroom;” and Aussies inquire about the “bathroom,” where in all three instances we don’t tend to rest, wash or bathe in any of them.

And they’re only the official euphemisms – we have loads more, many of which are not fit to be written in a family newspaper such as this.

My family favored the term “toot,” pronounced to rhyme with put, not hoot. My mother would oft times give me the sage advice never to miss an opportunity to visit the toot, as you would never know when you might get the urge and find you are toot-less – sans toot – embarrassed in the toot department – while you were out running around “the traps” (another Dear family favorite).

I’m wondering how the world will find London this summer at the Olympics. Not only does England have its share of euphemisms – here you would want to visit the loo – but visitors will have to run the gauntlet of rhyming slang, an art form made famous by London’s Cockney population.

Try this on for size:

“See, I went down the Frog and Toad to go see the bloke about a Bag of Fruit. But me old China Plate had closed the shop and had gone down the Rubbedy Dub where ’e was found quite Elephant’s Trunk. I got on the Dog and Bone, called the Trouble and Strife and made it ’ome just in time for me Rosie Lea.”

Confused?

Let me help – “See, I went down the road to go see the man about a suit. But my mate had closed the shop and had gone to the pub, where he was found quite drunk. I got on the phone, called the wife, and made it home just in time for my tea.” See? Quite easy really.

So meanwhile, back at the Masters – you know, that Georgia golf tournament just won by Bubba Watson Sunday? What does this have to do with my topic du jour, I hear you ask.

Well, the opening of the tournament should be the Par 3 Competition. But this year it was sadly savagely foreshortened by a quick sharp storm which swept through the area, thus causing its cancellation. A casualty of the storm was the building housing the restrooms on the 16th hole that night. The building wasn’t demolished, but it had incurred significant damage along the way.

That would never do for such an august Augusta event, now would it? So the contractor was called away from his dinner that night, and like the Elves and the Shoemaker, reconstructed the building before the first golfer could yell “Fore!” in the morning.

I’ve decided that this building should now have a name. After all, a number of the parts of the course already have such monikers as “Amen Corner” and every hole bears the name of a flower.

I will write to the organizers to suggest a plaque be placed in commemoration of this devoted contractor.

“And ladies and gentlemen, I now proclaim the Taj Ma Toot open.”

Got a great ring to it, doesn’t it?