Let others gag at terminology like “moist” or “curd” or “schmear.” Sure, these terms are objectively gross, but I’d enthusiastically mouth-handle any of those terms without hesitation or protection. Today’s word of the day, however, calls for more than a second helping of latex: supper.
Light? What’s so light about this slip-and-slidery profanity? The word “aerie” is light. This wretched descriptor has a humid weight to it like your little cousin’s wet bed sheets. Its two, dumb syllables are senselessly matched, as though by college dorm lottery. The double-P pop in the center hails from a schizophrenic alphabet of another planet or astral plane; it’s the gruesome uncooked center of ‘pepper’ (but strangely, not ‘upper’). The word reminds me of a live halibut trying to breathe in a bucket of liquid lard and semantically, it’s just as appetizing.
And before you ask, yes, it does get worse. Its verb form is “sup.” What an aggressively impolite cyst of a word. Let The American Heritage Dictionary explain because I can’t breathe:
Small swallows? Straight to Satan’s doorway all ye who eat like this. Or to put it another way: I hate supper with every fiber of my being.
I have never, nor will I ever partake this so-called “light evening” meal. Let’s use the alternative word please. My post-lunch comestibles are always, always dinner.