It’s not what you think it is. Well, maybe it is. I really have no idea what’s inside that little head of yours. What I mean to say is it’s not how it sounds. I know how it sounds, but dingus is nothing like that. Really. You have to believe me. It isn’t actually revolting, and you shouldn’t judge a word before you really get to know it.
Allow me to enlighten you.
Dingus – n. A gadget or object whose name is unknown or forgotten. Plural: Dinguses.
I’d like to say this word will come in handy, but I doubt it ever will. I say this because I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to utter it with a straight face.
As if dingus isn’t bad enough, they had to go and give it a plural form. Dinguses. Dinguses reminds me of anuses even though it has nothing at all to do with anuses. Still, I can’t help it. Some words just have that affect. They initiate some horrible word association game in your mind to which you have not consented and from which you can never escape. For me, and now you, dingus will forever be associated with anus, thereby preventing our use of this word ever again. All at once we have learned and lost a word.
I chose this word specifically in honor of Father’s Day – not because of what it sounds like although I’m sure all the dads out there will appreciate that (she said dingus), but because of what it is. I think it’s the perfect word for nearly every object in a dad’s garage. As for the dad himself, whenever he finds himself hunched over the hood of his car under the blazing summer sun, elbow-deep in motor oil, dripping sweat from his brow into the car engine trying to solve the mystery of what’s wrong with the stupid thing, and he discovers he doesn’t have the correct tool at his disposal, he can point back toward the garage waving his hand behind him, motioning to his kids who are running in circles around the vehicle sucking on ice pops to get him the tool he needs. You know the one. The thing. The short, stubby thing. In the garage. He turns, scowl on his face, to look at the kids who have stopped abruptly and are staring back at him blankly. He repeats his instructions, this time his voice a little deeper and louder, his hand gestures more furious and emphatic. Finally he shouts, “The…the…the dingus.”
See what I mean?
Sadly, dingus also reminds me of dingle and an even more nefarious word I will not repeat here. But I should take this opportunity to note dingle is, in fact, a narrow valley or shady dell (I know because it’s right next to dingus in the dictionary). So wipe those disgusting thoughts out of your head. Dingle is a perfectly nice word. So go on and use it.
These words, these brave little words, have tried to make their way in the world and, through no fault of their own, have been maligned, and now they will never see their day in the sun. Instead, people will continue with the familiar do dads, thingamajiggies and whatchamacallits, never venturing boldly beyond, leaving these words to fade into history.
That makes me sad. So I say to you, don’t let this happen. Together we can change history. Use the words. All the time. In every situation. Never mind the looks of shock and horror you receive. Those are just from the ignorant. So join me won’t you? Be the change you want to see.
Tell me – be honest – will you use these words?
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