The other day my brain swallowed a word. Completely swallowed it.
I was on the phone, trying to make plans for the weekend with a good friend of mine, not famed for his flexibility, when I completely, utterly and irretrievably forgot the word ‘provisional’. The word had gone from the tip of my tongue right down my gullet, and now sits somewhere in-between my mind’s intestines and its arse.
I know what you’re thinking; how bad could it have been? It was only the word provisional; How often do you use that, you empty-headed bumpkin? And that’s as maybe, but have you ever tried to explain your intention to work out a provisional plan, without using the magical P word? It’s not as easy as you might think. My conversation ran thus:
Now we like to think that misspeaking is just a nice way of saying ‘lying’. And while I’m inclined to agree, I don’t think that makes it a bad thing. A misspeak is generally a gentle little appeasement, a way of making someone think they’ve got their own way, when really you’ve got yours. And what’s more, it’s a victimless crime: Just like saying ‘I’ll call you’ or ‘we’ll have to go for a coffee sometime’, when what you really mean is 'I never want to see you again' or 'I really, really don't want to ever see you, ever, ever again', making a ‘provisional’ plan is just a get-out-of-jail-free card for poor organisational skills. A misspeak, if anything, is a gentle way of presenting a slightly harsher, if more accurate, truth.
Hillary Clinton came under fire recently, ironically enough, for not coming under fire. She claimed that the welcoming ceremony of a 1996 official trip to Bosnia had to be abandoned due to the somewhat unwanted attentions of a sniper and his boomstick. Hillary said: ‘I remember landing under sniper fire […] There was supposed to be some kind of a greeting ceremony at the airport but instead we just ran with our heads down to get into the vehicles to get to our base.’ Unfortunately for Hillary, whose pants were well and truly ablaze by this point, there exists plenty of television footage of the ceremony: We see her arriving, smiling, and waving. There’s even a sweet little girl reading her a poem and giving her a bunch of flowers, and categorically not trying to take her out with a well-placed bullet in the noggin.
Rather than throwing her hands up and admitting that she’d spun a yarn to make her sound a little more hardcore, Hillary explained that she had mis-spoken; that the fatigues of a long campaign meant that she had misremembered, obviously confusing her own life with that of Jack Bauer.
We all do it, misremember our past; its just a way of cutting out all the boring stuff and making the slightly-less boring stuff palatable to the minds and ears of others. Misremembering is just a recollection of bog-standard real life, but directed by Steven Spielberg; the dull bits cut out, and the interesting bits stretched to their exciting, rock-and-roll star capacity.
An example: Another friend of mine and I were in a club a few weeks back, when she fell victim to the amorous intentions of a man old enough to be her really pervy uncle, yet we both recount the story entirely differently. When I tell it, I rescued her with casual bravery and brute strength; when she remembers it, I panicked, flapped and squeaked while she admonished Uncle Kissyface ‘til he fled, confused and distraught. But that’s what misremembering (and cans of Red Stripe) will do to you; it puts you centre-stage in your own cognitive drama: Nobody wants to be an extra in the soap opera of their life, they want to be the star.
My mum always says that honesty is the best policy. Of course, I agree. And I’m not saying we should go around telling great big whoppers all day, making ourselves out to be Superman when we’re really just Clark Kent, but there’s something to be said for adding a little drama to the proceedings. Thankfully for we mere mortals, there are rarely camera crews following us around to expose our little mis-remembrances. Unfortunately for Hillary, when the eyes of the world’s press are firmly upon you, it doesn’t pay to be the presidential wannabe who cried sniper.
Misspeaking is fine in the real world; friends and family expect, nay hope, that the boring minutiae of your tedious little life is peppered with some interesting titbits, but when you want to become president of one of the world’s most powerful countries, it might be prudent to keep it simple, and save the tall tales for brunch with the girls.
A misspeak - to misquote Carrie Bradshaw – might just be a lie in a cuter outfit, but frankly, I’d prefer to see Hillary trussed up in a boring, honest business suit. Joe Bloggs is at luxury to accessorise the ins and outs of his life with embellishment. Presidential candidates are not. So, Hillary, leave the sartorial stuff to the plebs, eh?
I was on the phone, trying to make plans for the weekend with a good friend of mine, not famed for his flexibility, when I completely, utterly and irretrievably forgot the word ‘provisional’. The word had gone from the tip of my tongue right down my gullet, and now sits somewhere in-between my mind’s intestines and its arse.
I know what you’re thinking; how bad could it have been? It was only the word provisional; How often do you use that, you empty-headed bumpkin? And that’s as maybe, but have you ever tried to explain your intention to work out a provisional plan, without using the magical P word? It’s not as easy as you might think. My conversation ran thus:
Him: So, shall we say one o’clock then?Probably might not keep? What was my brain thinking? Of all of the infinite combinations of words our beautiful, ridiculous language offers us, I couldn’t think of a more sensitive, or indeed accurate combination than that? Not only had I made myself sound phenomenally thick, I’d committed one of life’s most fatal social sins: I’d spoken, when I should have misspoken.
Me: Yeah, but can we make it a…
My mind: …
Me: One of those plans that you make, but probably might not keep.
Now we like to think that misspeaking is just a nice way of saying ‘lying’. And while I’m inclined to agree, I don’t think that makes it a bad thing. A misspeak is generally a gentle little appeasement, a way of making someone think they’ve got their own way, when really you’ve got yours. And what’s more, it’s a victimless crime: Just like saying ‘I’ll call you’ or ‘we’ll have to go for a coffee sometime’, when what you really mean is 'I never want to see you again' or 'I really, really don't want to ever see you, ever, ever again', making a ‘provisional’ plan is just a get-out-of-jail-free card for poor organisational skills. A misspeak, if anything, is a gentle way of presenting a slightly harsher, if more accurate, truth.
Hillary Clinton came under fire recently, ironically enough, for not coming under fire. She claimed that the welcoming ceremony of a 1996 official trip to Bosnia had to be abandoned due to the somewhat unwanted attentions of a sniper and his boomstick. Hillary said: ‘I remember landing under sniper fire […] There was supposed to be some kind of a greeting ceremony at the airport but instead we just ran with our heads down to get into the vehicles to get to our base.’ Unfortunately for Hillary, whose pants were well and truly ablaze by this point, there exists plenty of television footage of the ceremony: We see her arriving, smiling, and waving. There’s even a sweet little girl reading her a poem and giving her a bunch of flowers, and categorically not trying to take her out with a well-placed bullet in the noggin.
Rather than throwing her hands up and admitting that she’d spun a yarn to make her sound a little more hardcore, Hillary explained that she had mis-spoken; that the fatigues of a long campaign meant that she had misremembered, obviously confusing her own life with that of Jack Bauer.
We all do it, misremember our past; its just a way of cutting out all the boring stuff and making the slightly-less boring stuff palatable to the minds and ears of others. Misremembering is just a recollection of bog-standard real life, but directed by Steven Spielberg; the dull bits cut out, and the interesting bits stretched to their exciting, rock-and-roll star capacity.
An example: Another friend of mine and I were in a club a few weeks back, when she fell victim to the amorous intentions of a man old enough to be her really pervy uncle, yet we both recount the story entirely differently. When I tell it, I rescued her with casual bravery and brute strength; when she remembers it, I panicked, flapped and squeaked while she admonished Uncle Kissyface ‘til he fled, confused and distraught. But that’s what misremembering (and cans of Red Stripe) will do to you; it puts you centre-stage in your own cognitive drama: Nobody wants to be an extra in the soap opera of their life, they want to be the star.
My mum always says that honesty is the best policy. Of course, I agree. And I’m not saying we should go around telling great big whoppers all day, making ourselves out to be Superman when we’re really just Clark Kent, but there’s something to be said for adding a little drama to the proceedings. Thankfully for we mere mortals, there are rarely camera crews following us around to expose our little mis-remembrances. Unfortunately for Hillary, when the eyes of the world’s press are firmly upon you, it doesn’t pay to be the presidential wannabe who cried sniper.
Misspeaking is fine in the real world; friends and family expect, nay hope, that the boring minutiae of your tedious little life is peppered with some interesting titbits, but when you want to become president of one of the world’s most powerful countries, it might be prudent to keep it simple, and save the tall tales for brunch with the girls.
A misspeak - to misquote Carrie Bradshaw – might just be a lie in a cuter outfit, but frankly, I’d prefer to see Hillary trussed up in a boring, honest business suit. Joe Bloggs is at luxury to accessorise the ins and outs of his life with embellishment. Presidential candidates are not. So, Hillary, leave the sartorial stuff to the plebs, eh?
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