Debonair

Debonair: (adj) courteous, gracious, and having a sophisticated charm

Here’s another thing to love about the United States of America.

Depending on where you travel, being debonair could be wearing an ascot—or eating with a fork.

That is the beauty of a nation which defines itself by how relaxed it is when it chows down, and also how, in the name of God, we never allow anyone to tell us what to do.

It is also why you probably will not hear the word “debonair” very often—unless it’s being touted in a sarcastic or negative manner.

Maybe a mother, seeing her son walk out of his room on prom night in his tuxedo, she might pop off with the word debonair.

Or I suppose it’s possible that some judge in a small-town talent contest might note that one of the contestants arriving dressed in a purple jump suit was attempting debonair.

‘Debonair’ is not something most Americans appreciate, or favor.

We equate it with a posing profile from the Continent, by a bunch of prissy people who are more concerned about the crease in their pants than about how well they come off to others.

So somewhere between slob and debonair, the United States floats along, putting on, every morning, the first thing that comes to mind and insisting all day long:

“It was meant to go together.”

Chow

Chow: (n) food.

There aren’t many things about which I am a purist.

I greatly believe that human beings have the right to phrase, think, pursue and even live out their hearts’ desire.

This doesn’t mean there aren’t ideas and phrases I find annoying–and one of those peccadilloes is when people decide to get cute about
describing eating.

I personally like the word “eat.”

I see no reason to make it more clever. So when people refer to food as “chow,” and slap me on the back, asking me if I’m ready to “chow down,” I suddenly turn into a German Shepherd and want to bite them.

After all, German Shepherds do chow down. They put their faces in bowls and stuff the food into their mouths until it falls out the sides, returning to the bowl to continue their slurping and crunching.

I am not a German Shepherd.

I don’t eat chow, and therefore, I don’t “chow down.”

I also don’t like to pull myself up to the old feed trough. (There seems to be an animal theme going on here…)

I don’t like to shovel food.

I don’t particularly care to inhale my food.

I really do just like to eat.

And I don’t want to be prissy about it, but when I hear the word “chow” I think of someone who wants to convey he or she has been in the military, or a 13-year-old girl who thinks she’s cool because she knows the Italian word for “good-bye.”

 

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