Word aversion, the
subject of much linguistic study, is a phobic reaction to the sound of certain
words. The seemingly innocuous moist
is one of the words that people find most unpleasant. A survey at Mississippi State University found that moist was second only to vomit among detested words, ahead of
such other nasties as phlegm, ooze,
mucus, puke, scab, and pus. There
is even a moist-hating Facebook page
with nearly 8,000 “friends.”
Reasons given for hating
moist relate to words and ideas that
it evokes. Some people say it
makes them think of “squishy” and “slimy.” Others say it elicits thoughts of soiled underwear, sweaty
palms, or other body parts dampened by various secretions. Some say it conjures up unpalatable
food. In urban slang moist can be a
synonym for “embarrassing,” “unpleasant,” or “sexually aroused.”
This aversion might be
explained by competing theories of the etymology of moist. A
fourteenth-century word meaning “slightly wet,” it derives from the Old French moiste, meaning “damp, wet, or
soaked.” One school says its Latin
root is musteum, meaning “fresh,
green, or new.” But another
linguistic camp thinks it stems from the Latin mucidus, which means “slimy, moldy, or musty.”
As for me, I am a great fan of moist—especially
in a slice of rich, moist chocolate cake or in an ice-cold, straight-up dry
martini with beads of lovely moisture condensing on the outside of the glass.
As for the Bard of Buffalo Bayou, he is all wet.
Water,
water, everywhere,
It’s
all I have to drink.
A
taste of plain vin-ordinaire
Would
put me in the pink.
I
wish I had a mug of beer—
I
hear the glasses clink,
But
my beverage is pure and clear,
Straight
from the kitchen sink.
A
shot of bourbon, scotch, or gin
Would
iron out every kink,
I’ll
even bet a Mickey Finn
Would
taste real good (wink, wink),
There’s
not a drop of Chardonnay
Or
cognac here to drink—
I
wonder if ‘twould be okay
If
I tried a glass of ink?
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