Coffee Chat 19.0 with S.K. Anthony: Where'd That Come From?

[S.K. taps fingers on Lynda's kitchen table with a frown.]
Good morning, guys. I'm waiting for Lynda to get her behind down here so I can question her. I need some answers from "her kind" and I won't be able to think clearly until I get them. [Reaches out to the big plate of crispy bacon and starts munching.]

Oh Lynda, there you are!

ER: Hey! Is the coffee—

SK: So yesterday morning it dawned on me that it was Wednesday, and I was spelling it out for the kids so they can familiarize themselves with days of the week. Now, can you explain what's up with all the "odd" rules the English language has? Why isn't it just Wensday?

ER: Uh, my coffee cup—

SK: I don't know who Wen is, but he's probably nice enough to have his own day. Who is Wednes anyway? Exactly. In fact, it should be Wineday, I mean, really.

ER: [Finally reaches the cupboard, only to have S.K. grab the cup away.] Wen who? Wednes? Wine? Aren’t we having coffee?

SK: Sit, sit, I'll get coffee while you answer.

ER: Okay, Wineday first. I mean, Wednesday. Isn’t it named after Woden, that Germanic god who was kind of like the Norse guy, Odin? I wasn’t around back then when they named these things, so I—

SK: That’s like a cheap excuse though, isn’t it? I mean I wasn’t around either. If anybody has the answer it’s you, I know it.

ER: Okay, yes, you’re right. It had nothing to do with Woden. The real story is that halfway through the week, kids all over the world would get very whiny. It happened then and it happens now. “When is it going to be Friday? Why isn’t Saturday here yet?” Whine, whine, whine. It was unbearable. And the elders in the villages started really laying down the law as soon as the kids would even open their mouths during the middle of the week. They’d tell them to stop their complaining, but of course it was the olden days and they spoke a little more formally back then, so they’d say, “Whine not, children.” Eventually, the midweek day became known as Whine-not Day. 

Unfortunately, as the name became popular and other villages adopted it, a few towns misunderstood—because they were villages without whiny children—and thought it was Wine-not Day. They abstained from wine in the middle of the week, but they weren’t really crazy about it. Still, they assumed all the other villages were doing the same. Since they weren’t drinking wine on that day, nobody wanted to get married midweek because they couldn’t put on a proper celebration. It gradually began to be known as Wed-not Day. I’m sure you can connect the dots to see how lazy spelling and improper pronunciation caused it to be known as Wednesday the world over.

SK: I knew it! I knew there had to be something fishy but acceptable behind the name.

ER: However, I should note that the word from an alternate source (my eighteen-year-old) is that it was always supposed to be pronounced as “Weddin’s Day,” the day most people wanted to get married. Having a wedding in the middle of the week would guarantee a person the most time off work before having to return to the old grind on Monday.

SK: That makes sense and it makes me think of cake. So while we're on it, what's up with the phrase "have your cake and eat it too." Why would I have cake and not eat it? Staring at it does me no good. Or is the one I "have" hidden so I eat it later? What is it?

ER: You hide cake? And . . . my coffee . . . can I—?

SK: I know it's a lot of questions. Don't you think I know? I'm all riled up. I've been up pondering on them while you've been busy getting your beauty sleep. Here's your coffee; you can have bacon after you answer each question.

ER: What is this, a game show? Ahh. Coffeeeeeee . . . [Sighs into the cup.] Wait—what? Bacon? [Runs to the window and sighs in relief to see Live Bacon outside, splashing in mud, still wearing his cute little red boots.]

SK: Yes, it’s straight up bacon. I'm stressed out.

ER: Hey, as long as it’s not our little buddy, I’m good with it, though we should probably keep him outside so he’s not offended that we’re chowing down on his kinfolk. Pass that bacon this way. I think coffee and bacon could possibly be the perfect breakfast, all in one tidy little package. Chocolate for dessert and we’re all set.

What? Nobody ever said breakfast shouldn’t include dessert.

SK: Word, sistah! But no bacon for you until you answer my questions. Rules are rules, you know.

ER: Okay, the cake. Um . . . having cake and eating it was never really a thing. Because . . . because back in the old days, they only had really bad cakes . . . like fruitcake. So if you had cake—and a brain in your head—you didn’t want to eat it. Wanting to “have your cake and eat it too” meant you were deranged. Yeah. [Nods.] And if someone accused you of wanting to have your cake and eat it too, then they were basically calling you a crazy person. In fact, that’s why Marie Antoinette said, “Let them eat cake.” She was, in effect, telling people to just haul off and die somewhere from eating bad fruitcake. You know, choking on it since it’s so dry, or digesting that candied fruit poorly, or . . . whatever.

Why they made the cake in the first place really doesn’t factor into the equation. So why are you stressed?

SK: I don't understand why we have noses that run and feet that smell.

ER: That has you stressed?

SK: And why a ‘fat chance’ and a ‘slim chance’ are the same thing. Is it the same 'chance' before and after a diet? Like, does he yo-yo diet constantly?

ER: Chances are that a yo-yo diet will allow you to be fat first, and then progressively thinner because yo-yos don’t move through your digestive system very quickly. Still faster and easier than fruitcake, though. True fact. Next?

SK: The Oxford comma, yay or nay? Why can't your kind stick to the same rule?

ER: That’s an easy one I can actually answer. I’m a huge fan of the Oxford comma. Oxford shirts, too. In fact, the Oxford comma came from the old days, too. I’ll bet you didn’t know that.

SK: You can actually answer? What does that mea—

ER: —The Oxford comma used to be called the Oxen-ford comma, stemming from a place where wandering writers used to allow their oxen to cross the streams. The oxen would have to pause, you see . . . um . . . I kind of forget the rest, but you get the idea.

SK: And I like starting sentences with conjunctions. But some people hate it. Yet I see it all the time. Just old-timers, right? RIGHT?

ER: I suppose I should say “right” right about now. I’m getting conjunctivitis just listening to it. More coffee, please. And more bacon for sure. I’ve earned it.

SK: Yes you have. [Passes the bacon and gets a coffee refill for Lynda.] Also "e-mail" should now be written as "email." Why was the correct abbreviation of "electronic mail" such a big deal?

ER: I’m with you on that one, but I need to obey the Chicago Manual of Style overlords until they give me permission to eliminate that hyphen. The Old School of writers and publishers is really resistant to any electronic forays, so keeping that hyphen in there is their way of creating distance between the written word and the electronic world toward which it’s migrating. It’s not me, baby, it’s them there overlords, cramping my style.

SK: Can't your kind just chill? As if hyphenation wasn't already a pain in the . . . ahem, grammar world.

ER: My kind?

SK: Yes, editors. Grammar Enforcers, Punctuation Queen and Kings. Your kind.

ER: I hadn’t realized we were a whole different species, but it does make sense in a way. I’ve always felt queen-like. I even wore a crown to the grocery store once, but that was an accident.

SK: Man, I’m just glad I’m friends with one of you, at least. I feel better now. More bacon? I have something to show you! Your kind will love it!