Any married man knows that the tone in which this word is uttered means a world of difference between “all is OK” and “the pits of hell are about to open beneath your feet and devour you.”
It’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday and, yep, “Fine” is the word prompt o’ the day.
Fine is one of those words that carries a lot of weight in the English language.
That girl is Fiiinnnneeee! (I don’t know why the extra e’s, they’re silent anyway. Also, hee hee, Michael Jackson song – you’re welcome for the ear worm. Moon walking on down this particular SoC. . . )
Everything’s fine. Which, of course, could mean “everything is fine” to “my dog and mama got runned over by a damned old train the day I was drunk and got out of prison.” For you country music fans or anyone who’s been out in a bar with a jukebox at 4 a.m., your welcome for either booting the previous ear worm or, like me, you know have one fucked up song running through your skull.
Speaking of skull, the left side of my head is sore as hell. And feel’s kinda lumpy in spots. I should probably get that checked out by a doctor to make sure that I am fine. Because if I’m not fine, I should probably figure that out sooner than later – and the advil will eventually eat a hole in my stomach.
I don’t recall saying “fine” all that much before I met George. I think I used to say I was “OK” or “good” or something.
Amazing how the word quirks each of you bring into a relationship bleed over to the other person. I’ve never called my underwear pants – except for the time I was trying to make the nephews giggle. You can get a lot of mileage with small English boys and pants jokes.
I’ve also never called my trunk the boot. We eventually sorted out the fries/chips/crisps conundrum. Points of occasional confusion remain around biscuits and cookies so it’s just as well we don’t eat either all that often.
One verbal quirk I picked up from Pawpan is to say “mighty fine.”
Always liked the sound of it, I suppose. Every now and again I’ll say it and have a memory flash of him saying that the hogshead cheese he just ate was might fine.
It was NOT mighty fine.
Scraps of pigs head molded together to make “cheese.” That shit ain’t right. I’ll eat the hell out of some pigskins, but boiled pig skull I can do without.
I digress. On the other hand, this is SoC, so are digressions even possible in this type of writing?
“Fine” is also a word that pops up in adds and product descriptions. Of course, I can’t friggin’ think of ANY now that I just typed it, but if you pay attention to marketing copy for things like wood work or jewelry, you’ll see it.
Fine art. Fine print. Fine arts. Fine dining. Fines. Finery. Chop the celery/onion/garlic fine.
Pretty versatile word.
I think I’m going to get back into building models and painting miniatures soon. It was a fun hobby, but I stopped years ago when Lauren was about 2 and a half because she could reach the center of the table I used to paint on.
I packed it all up and haven’t done much in over a decade. I think I have a few stashed away somewhere and I have a half-painted Godzilla in my office.
Hmmmmm, maybe I’ll do some Internet poking after this is done.
Back to “fine” and the pits of hell. What is it with women and small girl children
Men can say “fine” in a pissy way, but it just doesn’t seem the same as the utter disdain a small girl child can muster up with a “fiiinnnneee” (of course, an uptick a bit of a whine at the end).
And I need to take the dogs out, even though I’m doing this.
And, your ear worms for today.
And the Michael Jackson song is The Girl is Mine. Whatever. I was close!
And the best song to sing loud, drunk, and proud anytime from 1 to 5 in the morning, You Never Even Called Me By My Name, the perfect country and western song.