My mother told me my dad had ‘Rosa Shay’ on his face. It was rosacea.
My sister says ‘ignernt’ for ignorant - and doesn’t think she sounds that way at all. Then again, she still refers to Down’s Syndrome as mogoloid idjits.
Instead of foliage my mom says foilage, foilage. I’m sorry mom, I usually let minor pronunciation errors go by, but it’s not “elitist” of me and I don’t “always have to be right.” It’s just that whenever you say it I imagine walking up a beautiful mountain trail and seeing the lovely trees, bushes, and grass… made out of Reynolds Wrap.
Edit: Also, my mom insists that “Ramen” is pronounced “Romaine” and “everyone knows that” and “that’s how everybody said it when [she] was in college.” I’m sorry, but I’d like to be rather clear that I’m ordering a noodle dish, and not lettuce. Also, I speak Japanese so this really shouldn’t be a point for argument considering it’s a Japanese dish and I can read the kana sitting right there in front of me.
My dear departed step-grandmother could not pronounce aluminum or cinnamon - her mouth just didn’t know where to stop on those last syllables, so it would come out “aluminuminum…” or “cinnaminnaminnamom.” She also knew that those words were going to come out funny, which made it worse, and she’d get the giggles while trying to say either. It was all fun and games until giggles led to stress incontinence! So yeah, we learned to wrap the leftover sweet rolls in tinfoil at her house. Easier than steam cleaning her recliner!
And it’s so common that we probably all know someone who calls Alzheimers “Old Timer’s” disease. It gets the point across perfectly well, but it’s still pretty funny.
These two may go under the heading “cute kids” instead of mispronunciations, but: when we were little kids, my oldest friend thought that exercise was “extra size,” since his dad and uncle lifted weights to build muscles, and our moms both exercised when they got together, and both were… generously proportioned. (Four decades later, Chad still jokes about going to the gym to extra-size.) Also, when she was small, my middle daughter would often see me coloring in my white blond brows, or her aunt penciling in the brows that didn’t grow back after chemotherapy. Based on her understanding of colors, she concluded that those things are called “eyebrowns.” Took quite a while to convince her otherwise!
I find it difficult to stop saying phenomenonenomenonenomenon. I can actually only say phenomenon correctly by hearing the Muppets theme tune in my head.
My mother had perfect pronunciation except that she would always pronounce “drought” to rhyme with “ought”.
One of those words that I’d seen written but never heard spoken was “carabiner”. It seemed like it could have about four different pronunciations and none seemed clearly more right than the other. I finally looked it up and now I can say it without fear.
I knew a guy who had the most atrocious Southern accent. Usually I could understand him, but I embarrassed myself one day when he was telling me about a girl who “had a problem with peels”.
Me: “Banana peels? Facial peels? What do you mean?”
Dungbeetle, I’m as southern as grits, but I was absolutely mortified to learn that I had repeatedly misunderstood my (then-future) mother-in-law’s pronunciation of the word “still.” She generously invited me to join the family at their fishing lodge, located at Still Lake. During the whole visit, I kept talking about how lovely Steel Lake sounded! (Although future husband should have told me!) And I was born only about 20 miles down the road from her. I can certainly see someone without a Southern accent being completely bumfuzzled by the accent!
Meh. Since when do pronunciations have to make sense? I know college-educated folk who say “nucular.” Pretty common around here in Chicago, too. There are two theories of how it evolved. One involves metathesis, the other the combination by analogy of slang “nuke” + the relatively common “cular” suffix (“spectacular,” “molecular,” “circular,” “secular,” etc.)
That said, expresso does irritate the crap out of me, for no good reason. And, while I tend to use the “brooshetta” pronunciation of bruschetta, because, well, that’s the way it is in English, I really want to say it with a hard “k” sound instead of a “sh.”
My first husband could not pronounce dowel. Try as he might it came out sounding exactly like dial. Funny thing was he could say towel with no problem. I pointed it out but he just couldn’t make it work.
My mother likes to tell the story of moving to FL with her raised in Milwaukee accent. She stopped a clerk at the grocery store and asked if they carried pins (she was working on a sewing project). He said “m’am, you want ball point pens or fountain pens”? She said, no, I need sewing pins to which he replied “Oh, you mean pee-uns”.
My current husband likes to make up words if he can’t think of the correct word. Interestingly, I can usually figure out what he’s talking about even though it’s gibberish. So when he says to me “we need to take care of the flapnackle this weekend” I’ll usually figure out what he’s talking about though not always.