MEL BUTTLE
“I’d misheard baby-led weaning as baby linguine”
‘We’re doing baby linguine,” my mum friend said very matter-of-factly. Her tone implied that I should already know exactly what this is. That’s an oddly specific dinner for a baby, I thought, slightly confused but, not wanting to look silly, I waited in anticipation to find out exactly what was in linguine for babies.
What a step-up from pureed carrots and rusks I thought, kids have it all these days, and right from the beginning too. When she brought out a cracker with hummus on it and some pieces of barbecued lamb, I threw her a confused look. “Where’s the pasta?” I asked.
“He’s not really into pasta at the moment,” she replied clipping him into his eating smock.
“Well, where’s the linguine?” I countered. My friend tilted her head on the side like a Jack Russell listening to a whistle, “What do you mean linguine? I don’t think he can have linguine yet?”
After talking in circles a wee bit longer, we eventually realised I’d misheard baby-led weaning as “baby linguine”. I’d heard a few of the right vowel sounds, none of the consonants, and filled in the rest of the story in my head.
If you’ve ever spoken to me in a noisy pub, I’m sorry but I really had no idea what you were saying, unless your lips were almost in my ear, or you had visual aids. I was doing the above, making educated guesses based on the bits I did manage to pick up.
I’ve misheard things my whole life, songs present a particular challenge. In her hit song, Man I Feel Like A Woman, beloved Shania Twain sings, “It’s our prerogative to have a little fun.”
Not me though, in full voice, I’d sing, “It’s our Berocca fizz, to have a little fun.” Yes, you’re right, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but who am I to question a 20-time platinum recording artist?
I didn’t realise I misheard things until I reached the supportive, gentle sanctuary for adolescents that is high school. It was here that it was told to me I’d made a slight error in comprehension.
The girl who picked it up discreetly took me aside and let me know of my faux pas. Just kidding, of course she didn’t. Instead, in front of everyone, she screeched indignantly, “What did you just say? Why would Shania Twain sing about Berocca?”
From then on I waited to crosscheck the lyrics of any song I planned on singing along to. It was the ’90s so I did this by either reading the inside of the CD cover where the lyrics and thank yous were printed, or by getting my hands on that month’s TV Hits magazine
and hoping that Informer by Snow was in there that month.
As time went on, I discovered an even easier option, I’d just pretend to sing. Why was I wasting time learning lyrics when I could simply mime the words. I had enough sense not to just sit there in silence … in order to not be a total social pariah, I’d realised my mouth would need to be moving.
I feel like my high school had more singing than most, two hymns minimum most assemblies and an inter-house choral competition to boot. My house sang The Lion Sleeps Tonight, we didn’t win, Chaucer won with an upbeat number with choreography. They had Nadia Brims and Stephanie Carter though, so it was already in the bag for them.
There’s a term for mishearing song lyrics, which means it’s not just me thinking Shania Twain is pushing Berocca. It’s called a mondegreen. Which, of course, up until spell checking for this column, I believed was called pond greens.