Mhairi Forrest

Occasionally I post entries discussing my own particular take on male/female interactions. Last time, I made the boys squirm a little with my highlighting the bad habit of some guys who check out women while they’re talking to a female (See: The Surreptitious Checkout). Now it’s the girls’ turn. After all, I am an equal opportunity troublemaker.

Ever been on a car trip and played Madlibs? These are books of short paragraphs with some parts of speech left out. The idea is to fill in the blanks, without reading the story, with whatever is requested, the more ridiculous the better. When all the empty spaces are filled, then you read the finished product, usually out loud. The resulting tales are sometimes very funny, more often stupid, but even stupid can be funny when you’re driving through the Utah desert hyped up on Big Gulps.

Girls, with their facility for language, are really good at this game and grown up girls are even better at it, only most men are unaware they’re the pages being written on (until it’s too late and the woman who acted as though you walked on water, now treats you as if you’re all wet). Women who play Madlibs are those who are gaga for a guy initially and later pick him apart. For example, when he says, “I don’t want to have children,” she hears a blank at the end of his statement and fills in, “yet,” because of course he’s going to want to have children with HER. Then, later, when he doesn’t follow her storyline, she complains to all her girlfriends. This inability of women to accept the men in their lives for who they really are, is ridiculous and, I’m going to use a really old-fashioned word, dishonouring.

Our culture reinforces that it’s okay for women to play Madlibs. This hit home recently when I opened a national women’s fitness magazine and saw an ad for rice cakes. In bold letters it said, “If rice cakes can change, maybe there’s still hope for men.” I’m sure it was meant to be funny, but I found it so offensive. Maybe what needs to change is the way we females take the plain canvas of a man’s life and character and embellish it so it’s more to our liking, instead of taking the time to soberly evaluate what’s on the page BEFORE we commit our hearts.

I’ve listened to friends criticize their men and I always ask the same question, “Was he this way when you met him?” The answer’s invariably, yes, but… Ladies, it’s time for us to stop filling in the blanks and look at men as they are, not how they will be once we make them over. We want to be loved and appreciated for who we are, men are no different. Even if you think you can write a much better story than the one he’s written, resist the impulse, and either cut him lose and find a story you can live with, or learn to appreciate the one in front of you.

My daughters have discovered a new game. We were driving to summer camp this past week, when I heard from the back seat, “Mama, say Taco Bell.”

“Taco Bell,” I repeated.

“No, in Scottish,” #4 replied.

“Tahcoe Behl,” I said, repositioning the words in my mouth. Laughter from the back seat.

“Say, Anderson.”

Cluing into the game, “Ahnderrrsun.” More laughter.

“McDonalds,” this was #3.

“MihkDawnahlds.” In Scots, the hard “c” sounds like I’m clearing my throat.

“Mickey D’s.”

“Mihki Dees,” more throat clearing.

This unleashed a torrent from my two aspiring linguists: car wash, Denny’s, book (one of their favourites as the “oo” sound is formed on the very front of the lips and sounds really funny), park, etc. The game continued for about fifteen minutes until I dropped them off and gained peace once again.

This, um, talent I have for switching back and forth between my native Scots’ and adopted American accents has entertained friends and family for years. It shows up whenever anyone with any kind of British accent is around. I have been known to walk through a room while the BBC is on television, and when I walk out the other side I’m being asked, “Why are you speaking Scots’?”

It’s even funnier when new people are introduced and another Scot is in the group. Then, I switch between the two, depending on whom I’m speaking to at the moment. If you can imagine a conversation where one of the participants’ voices changes continually, sometimes in mid sentence, you get the picture. I just laugh and say my name is Jekyll.

I’ve tried sticking with just one and it’s never worked. If I use the American and should be speaking in my native accent, I’m distracted and feel like I’m having to think about every word. When I use the Scots’ and the group is American, it feels like I’m singing off-key, with a few exceptions. Do not ask me why, but when I speak to babies, I’m more likely to switch into Scots’. And if I become REALLY emotional, the Scots’ will come out, no matter who it is I’m talking to. My American children are most often the beneficiaries of this one. There’s nothing like being good and mad at someone, letting them know it and they look at you and say, “You’re talking Scots’ again.” It’s a great tactical weapon to throw mother off point.

I’ve always been a bit embarrassed by this propensity. It comes from moving so much as a kid and not feeling like I fit in. When my family emigrated from Scotland to Canada, I spent the first month practising Canadian at home. During this period, I earned the reputation as the quietest girl in the class. Fortunately, as soon as I nailed the accent, I released a flood of pent up verbage that has yet to run dry (a period of silence did not occur when I moved to the States, probably because the accents are so similar and being quiet was an unbearable torture, not to be repeated)

Recently, I’ve noticed my speech is changing a bit. The colours are mixing more, creating interesting shades which sometimes appear at the oddest moments. I feel a bit like Jekyll losing control of Hyde. Maybe it’s time to unleash the monster within. Finally!