More on Word Misuse

It was eighth grade, a time of raging hormones, painful insecurity, and science projects. Let me mention here that while I most absolutely want a houseful of children someday (knock on wood), I already dread helping them with their science projects. I think I may formally cede all science project help to my future husband (knock on wood) in a prenup agreement.

My science project was on acid rain. I monitored the effect of different concentrations of acidity on…well, something…I can’t actually remember now what I dropped the acid on (no, it wasn’t my tongue and it didn’t produce any psychedelic experiences), but that was the basic premise. I put together the requisite three panel free-standing poster, and damn if I didn’t do my best there – trying to bring a little artistic flair to the sciences. Lastly, I wrote up my presentation on note cards. The teacher had strongly recommended that we practice out loud before presenting in front of the class. But it was the night before the project was due, I was tired, and in a moment of manic confidence, I recklessly abandoned this advice.

The next day in front of the class (including my most long-lasting crush), I was eager to be done with this science project once and for all. I began, “Acid rain effects all living org...,” my mind raced, “organisms.” Wait! That wasn’t the right word! “ORGASMS” I shouted, trying to incorrectly correct myself. The moment the second word escaped, my confusion abruptly disappeared. “NO!!” I wailed, “organisms, organisms, organisms!” My shouting was futile, absorbd by the uproar from the class. Even the teacher had lost it, a very large man, squeezed into the small chair and desk in the back of the room, his head tilted back with eyes closed, cracking up. I’ve never felt my face get so very, very hot and red, and I’ve never been more relieved to be done with a presentation than when I returned to my seat that day.