MANDY FLYNN: It’s well-nigh time to speak plainly

“It’s well-nigh time she realized she was wrong.”

That was a phrase I hadn’t heard in a while, well-nigh. It’d been so long, in fact, I had to think a minute what it meant. Well-nigh … well-nigh. I remember now. Well-nigh. Almost. Practically.

I was proud of myself for figuring that one out, unlike other times when I’m caught off guard by someone using a word that completely flies over my head. It happens a lot, actually.

“I haven’t watched the news for weeks. The glossolalia of the presidential candidates, it’s unequivocal they’re all dolts,” I just can’t stand it anymore,” said the woman in the public restroom drying her hands with a paper towel after I commented how nice it was to be at a baseball game and get a break from the election news. Wait. What?

“I agree,” I said and I think even tilted my head to the side like a dog after hearing a strange sound. Only I didn’t really agree because I had no idea what she’d just said. Until about ten minutes later when I looked it up, but only after I misspelled it a half dozen times.

Glossolalia — nonsensical speech. Unequivocal — leaving no doubt. And dolt … a not so smart person. Why didn’t she just say so?

The other day someone told me algebra is anathema to her, and a man in front of me at Target told the cashier his daughter was being pervicacious. Come to find out, she thinks algebra is evil, and the man’s daughter, well, l she’s just stubborn.

I shouldn’t expect others to dumb down their vocabulary just because mine is seriously lacking in the smart department, and I don’t. I kind of like it when I’m forced by my own stupidity and curiosity to look up a word. A good dictionary is everybody’s friend. But I still usually choose to use lesser smart words. Like, instead of well-nigh I might say damn near.

“I damn near burned the spinach,” I said recently as I made my way from the kitchen to the den, trying my best to beat the wisp of burning plant smell that was scheduled to hit my husband’s nose in five … four … three …

“You burned it, didn’t you?” he half-asked/half-assumed. Actually, no, I did not. I damn near burned it. There is a difference.

Like last week when I damn near ate a whole big bag of peanut M&Ms. Only I didn’t. I left four in the bag, which, quite frankly, was three too many. I could have left one and still been perfectly justified in proclaiming him wrong when he said I essentially ate the entire bag of M&Ms. Because I didn’t. I left four. I damn near ate it all.

My mother used to say we’ve just about fried her last nerve — we, as I recall, being her six children. But just about frying her last nerve is not the same as frying her last nerve, which gave us the go ahead to push the envelope a little further. Not until she said “that does it” could you rest assured she meant it. She wasn’t one to spank too much, but she could damn near peel the skin off your face with a look that said you’d better straighten up or else. Especially back then, she didn’t mince words. When mama said she was going spank us if we didn’t behave, she didn’t say buffet our derriere, she said whoop our tails. I knew what she meant. Loud and clear.

I may be a little pervicacious, but I’m no dolt. Now, is that an unequivocal statement?

Damn near.

Visit lifestyles columnist Mandy Flynn’s website www.mandyflynn.com.