Just for the Ell of It

My wife Tonya mispronounces certain words, and I take endless pleasure drawing this to her attention. She says she doesn’t know what I am talking about, and besides, I’m wrong.  This was the first lesson Husband School should have taught me:  instead of opening the door and saying, “Hi Honey, I’m home,” I should announce, “Hi Honey, I’m wrong,” thus avoid any painful confusion later. In reality, there is very little difference in the way we talk, just different flavors of a Midwestern accent. 

This is Tonya’s flavor….

Sale, sell, and sail are all pronounced “cell.” 

She looked over the top of her glasses at me. “I’m saying them the same way you are.”

“It’s say-ull, not cell.”

“Whatever, loser boy,” she said in full-blow Valley Girl.

Sentences like, “A sailor was selling cells on sale aboard his sail boat,” cannot be deciphered without a Tonya to English dictionary.

Imagine my confusion when we were newlyweds, experiencing our first thunderstorm together.

She said, "It's helling outside."

I rushed to the door, expecting the sky had turned black and rained fire and brimstone onto the streets.  I, of course, found little ice balls bouncing in the yard.

"You mean it's hailing?"

"That's what I said, Frecklehead."

I never should have begun teasing her, because I knew I would pay for it.  Dearly.  Tonya now sends me on quests.

She said, "I need you to find me an orange pillar."

Danielle (pronounced "Da-nell," by the way, although she tells you it is said, "Duh-nail") is Tonya's sister. She was sitting at our dining room table.  Immediately, she started giggling into her hands.

"A what?" I said.

"Orange pillar.  I need an orange pillar."

"For what?  Our house is white."

Danielle's laughter exploded into great guffaws that (as a nice reader once told me) LOL failed to describe.

I said, "But...but...I don't know anything about carpentry!"

Danielle wailed:  "Peeler!  Sam, she's making fruit salad.  She needs an orange peeler!"

Since then I have been sent on many more quests....

 I never found the electric Nell gun, because Tonya's sister -- sometimes Nell, for short -- said she didn't own any electric guns.  But she did pat me on "my widdle head."

Driving five miles out into the country to see what I thought was the world's only one-ton hay bell was a big disappointment.

One day around noon, standing in the front yard, I saw the postal carrier approaching and decided to be friendly.  My wife had told me his name.  I said, "Hi, Mr. Mellman!"  I just thought he was Jewish.  Ever since, he has called me "Mr. Current Resident."

And so on.  I am sure this is some obscure form of spousal abuse.

If any of my kind readers out there are fluent in whatever language my wife speaks, please contact me through this blog or leave tips in the comment section.  I'm beginning to feel quite lost and would appreciate some lessons -- especially now that the requests are growing more ridiculous.  For example, I absolutely refuse to drive to the coast just to go well watching. (That would be more boring than watching hair grow.)