The Disenchanted Broccoli Forest

Last night I had my eyes dilated and they were still hurting so I turned my back on the TV and addressed envelopes for Christmas cards. A lady was talking about puh-roe-lees. I wasn’t really paying attention, but my husband exclaimed, “She’s not even pronouncing it correctly,” or one could say, as one does, “not saying it right.”

Pa-role-ees.

“Oh!” I said. “I thought she was talking about food.” Canoli. Pierogi. Parolee.

“When we’re old,” he says, “No one will speak the way we do. The language is changing.”

“In a world of deliciousness,” says the voice on the TV, “there would be more smoothness.”

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