Saturday, November 1, 2014

A Linguistic Mishap

This is a difficult confession, as I have always prided myself of my command of the English language, so I will use my alter-ego when sharing this glimpse into my life with you.
The laird. Photography by J.J. Goodman
The Much Honored Bock McMillan, laird of Southern Charm, prince of Cascade Falls, Sovereign Ruler of the Commonwealth of Southern Enchantment Region and Outer Territories and finally UN appointed Protector of the Solace Island and Mount Whitney sims in SecondLife, was laying in bed with his beloved consort Tomais a few nights ago. (The Solace Island sim no longer enjoys the protection of the laird.)

Earlier the same day the laird had been cleaning out his Inventory and reduced it from 30,430 items to 25,643 by deleting a whole lot of system clothing (except a few who had sentimental value to him). He was pleased with his accomplishment and was now thinking of the next step to take after he had culled his objects folder, his textures folder, his snapshots folder, his note cards folder and his landmarks folder. (Although he himself emphatically maintains otherwise, he really isn't the most patient man in SecondLife, as you can establish from his skipping the arduous work still remaining with the aforementioned folders.)

The laird had, ever since he heard of his consorts neat and well-organized Inventory, wanted to learn how to organize his own Inventory in a similar way so that he would be better able to find what he was looking for and no longer having to rely on dumb luck or that he remembered the correct name of an item. Even though the laird himself is not a pedantic man by nature, he (most likely through his upbringing and his meticulous parents) has always held a deep and lasting admiration for well-organized people, although he tries to hide that fact and talks rather disdainfully about it. He was therefor very eager to learn from his lover how to organize his Inventory better.

But I am procrastinating, onward with this gory confession.
The laird and his consort. Photography by J.J. Goodman
With those thoughts in his mind, the laird turned to his consort and said - in his usual rather bossy way, "Next weekend you really must show me your anal content..."

The laird was not at all prepared for the rumbustious and boisterous laughter that erupted from his lover before he could complete his sentence. He was rather taken aback and wondered what had happened until his lover, still laughing loudly and heavily. managed to squeeze in a coherent sentence, "You want me to show you my shit?"

At which point the laird blushed (which he rarely does) and started stammering that that was indeed not the request he wished to express at all.

After my lover had calmed down, he related a story about his mother who committed a similar faux-pas at a social gathering and very kindly pointed out that such unfortunate occurrences do happen and although embarrassing are never fatal. A while later, once the laird had collected himself, they could both laugh at it.

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