Supposedly published in the July 25, 1994 New Yorker magazine.
by Jack Winter
It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very
chalant, despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate.
I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her
standing alone in a corner. She was a descript person, a woman in a
state of total array. Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and
she moved in a gainly way.
I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I'd have to make bones
about it since I was travelling cognito. Beknownst to me, the hostess,
whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be
skin off my nose if anything bad happened. And even though I had only
swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn't be peccable. Only toward
and heard-of behavior would do.
Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause
was evitable. There were two ways about it, but the chances that
someone as flappable as I would be ept enough to become persona grata
or a sung hero were slim. I was, after all, something to sneeze at,
someone you could easily hold a candle to, someone who usually aroused
bridled passion.
So I decided not to risk it. But then, all at once, for some apparent
reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could
make heads or tails of.
I was plussed. It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and
it nerved me that she was interested in a pareil like me, sight seen.
Normally, I had a domitable spirit, but, being corrigible, I felt
capacitated--as if this were something I was great shakes at--and
forgot that I had succeeded in situations like this only a told number
of times. So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall and
made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings.
Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had no time to
prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous. Wanting to make only
called-for remarks, I started talking about the hors d'oeuvres, trying
to abuse her of the notion that I was sipid, and perhaps even bunk a
few myths about myself.
She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savory
character who was up to some good. She told me who she was. "What a
perfect nomer," I said, advertently. The conversation became more and
more choate, and we spoke at length to much avail. But I was
defatigable, so I had to leave at a godly hour. I asked if she wanted
to come with me. To my delight, she was committal. We left the party
together and have been together ever since. I have given her my love,
and she has requited it.
by Jack Winter
It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very
chalant, despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate.
I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her
standing alone in a corner. She was a descript person, a woman in a
state of total array. Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and
she moved in a gainly way.
I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I'd have to make bones
about it since I was travelling cognito. Beknownst to me, the hostess,
whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be
skin off my nose if anything bad happened. And even though I had only
swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn't be peccable. Only toward
and heard-of behavior would do.
Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause
was evitable. There were two ways about it, but the chances that
someone as flappable as I would be ept enough to become persona grata
or a sung hero were slim. I was, after all, something to sneeze at,
someone you could easily hold a candle to, someone who usually aroused
bridled passion.
So I decided not to risk it. But then, all at once, for some apparent
reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could
make heads or tails of.
I was plussed. It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and
it nerved me that she was interested in a pareil like me, sight seen.
Normally, I had a domitable spirit, but, being corrigible, I felt
capacitated--as if this were something I was great shakes at--and
forgot that I had succeeded in situations like this only a told number
of times. So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall and
made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings.
Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had no time to
prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous. Wanting to make only
called-for remarks, I started talking about the hors d'oeuvres, trying
to abuse her of the notion that I was sipid, and perhaps even bunk a
few myths about myself.
She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savory
character who was up to some good. She told me who she was. "What a
perfect nomer," I said, advertently. The conversation became more and
more choate, and we spoke at length to much avail. But I was
defatigable, so I had to leave at a godly hour. I asked if she wanted
to come with me. To my delight, she was committal. We left the party
together and have been together ever since. I have given her my love,
and she has requited it.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
Interestingly enough, there's a fairly significant ceremony in the book I'm teaching right now that uses snakes very heavily. I'd be interested to hear about the different cultural meanings for this symbol.
Also, I think I used a dictionary like that when I was writing a paper on T.S. Eliot. He has a specific passage in one of his poems where he refers to an orchid, and it turns out (as I discovered through using the Symbolism Dictionary) that the orchid has a whole range of potential symbolic meanings.