To me, “chat” always seemed like a shortened version of another word. But it isn’t. I thought maybe it was short for “Chatterley.” But that was some lady with a lover.
I used to have a friend who tried to lessen his anger by telling me that he wanted to sit down and “have a chat.” I was always aware that this
was bad news. His definition of “chatting” was to begin quietly and end screaming. But I guess I have to give him points for trying.
What is a chat?
It is a collection of words not worthy to be called a “talk.”
It is so lacking in value that it doesn’t even get to be considered a “discussion.”
God knows it’s not an “insight.”
And certainly it isn’t an “intercourse” (which should never be used to describe a conversation. Some words only have one meaning.)
“Chat” seems to be infested with a spirit of nonsense–a sensation of insignificance.
It’s the kind of thing where someone says, “Did you see Aunt Myrtle?” and I reply, “We chatted”–to which everyone frowns and thinks, “Oh. Not much there.”
For instance, you would not refer to it as “The Gettysburg Chat.”
Or “The Chat on the Mount.”
No one goes for “marriage chatting.”
Chatting just don’t get no respect.
It is the Rodney Dangerfield of verbiage.