*Inspired by popular slang terms found in the archives of the 1891 American Slang Dictionary.

By KF, TIWP Student

I met the most infuriating man the other day. I’m not talking looks. I’m speaking of his no good, arrogant, painful, and utterly boring personality. As my sister would say, he is a man that is too high for his nut. And honestly this is all just a bottom fact. Sure he was good looking, but I could smell his stenchy attitude from a mile away. A crowd of ladies pooled around him like the world’s most eligible bachelor. His ego was surely through the roof. By the way the ladies were gleaming and giggling, I was sure that he was telling them thumpers. Ewww. Some pumpkins he thought he was. I was nearly nauseous, just looking at him. He must have noticed the disgust piercing through my skin because I swear it appeared as if he was approaching me. Oh boy… God save me! A hand is placed upon my shoulder. The man is most definitely behind me now…isn’t he? What if I don’t turn around? Should I act as if I don’t notice the obvious hand resting on my skin? Or shall I pretend to be in a conversation with someone else? 

“Ahem,” the man clears his throat, “Pardon miss, but are you not aware of my presence?”

Help me now. He can’t be serious. 

“Yes I was most certainly aware, but I just didn’t want to entertain you.”

He looked taken aback.

“Why? Am I too charming for you?”

Eww! Absolutely appalling yet again.

“No, not in the slightest,” I respond. 

“That must be a thumper! Most ladies would kill for a mere conversation with me.”

“Wow, you’re a lally-cooler and a snake, and I think this conversation is over.”

Before he even gets the chance to open his mouth and speak again, I rush out of the ballroom and into the courtyard. There I sat in peace, away from all the gross and conceited men. A dreadful night to say the least.

The next morning though, I awoke to an even more unpleasant surprise. I learned that my mother would be marrying me off to a prince. I did NOT want a husband, nor a royal title. But my mother went on and on about how marriage is my destiny. Obviously it is not. And if my mother can’t see that, I will just have to prove it to her once I marry him.

So…fast forward a couple days to when I met the prince, and it was none other than Mr. I’m-so-cool-and-every-lady-fancies-me. My gut was ripped out of me, anger rang through my ears, and the vulgar taste of barf traveling up my throat. I was not content with this arrangement. How could THIS, THIS MAN, be my husband? This tool and egotistical rag was a prince! I had to find a way out, even if it meant waking the snakes.