Fingerprints

Verbal patterns feel so good in our mouths that we are compelled to repeat them, over and over. Our tongues relish pulling back and pursing our cheeks as we bring the sound forward to our lips and say “good to go.” Vocal fingerprints, unlike those on our hands, are utterly transferable and sharable and spread like bacteria from one mouth to another, until we are all so infected with a catch phrase that we don’t know we have it anymore.

A few years ago, I became “Queer Eye” inundated and started saying “Fabulous!” as a joke, rolling my eyes and flopping my hand to show how funny I was. But too many repetitions turned “Fabulous!” into an actual verbal pattern—I couldn’t stop saying it!

I’d say “Fabulous!” then say, “Oh god, I said it again, just fabulous. Oh no! In trying not to say ‘Fabulous!’ I said ‘fabulous!’ This is horrible. Fabulous. See?”

It was a terrible, confusing time for me. Matthew reassured me, saying, “You’re thinking about it too much. If you quit thinking about the word so much it will go away.”

But it wouldn’t. It sat there perched on the back of my tongue waiting to unroll at a moment’s notice. Like an angry, taunting jester, it was there, hanging in my mouth, jumping out when I didn’t want it, out of my control. After I said it, I’d scream at whomever I was with, “I didn’t mean to say ‘Fabulous!’ I’m trying not to say it anymore! You have to understand!” Pretty much everyone thought I was nuts, but it was “Fabulous!” that made me feel nuts. Always there in my mouth, waiting, watching, laughing at me.

And now, “good to go” is staring me in the face. It is a threat. It watches, taunting me, waiting to get into my mouth. “Everyone else is saying me Christine. Try it. ‘Good to go.’ It feels delicious.” It is my siren song. My viper in the Garden of Language Eden. It calls to me, and I flinch every time I read it or hear it. But I resist. “Fabulous!” taught me that I can be weak and succumb to the power of diction, but I also learned I can quit when I try. “Good to go” won’t break my enamel barrier, now that I’m on guard against verbal assault.