A few days ago Chickadee kept saying GORGONZOLA over and over, until Monkey started doing it, too, and before long they were both in the kitchen, bouncing up and down, chanting “GOR-GON-ZO-LA! GOR-GON-ZO-LA!”
“Why are you doing that?” I asked. (Because I am foolish and expect my children to make sense, even though nearly ten years of experience has never borne out this hypothesis in the slightest.)
“I don’t know,” Chickie replied. “It’s just fun to say. GOR-GON-ZO-LA!”
“GOR-GON-ZO-LA!” Monkey added, for good measure.
“Do you even know what gorgonzola is?” I pressed.
“Yes,” retorted Chickadee, full of indignation.
There was a pause. Monkey may or may not have whispered “gorgonzola” a couple of times while my daughter and I looked at each other.
“No,” she admitted. “What is it?”
“Gorgonzola is how you say ‘I’m a moron’ in Swedish,” offered Otto.
The kids looked at him. They looked at each other. And then they resumed chanting GOR-GON-ZO-LA! with glee.
Ever since then, “gorgonzola” has become the curse word of choice in our house.
Try it—you’ll like it.
Hit your thumb with the hammer? “GORGONZOLA!”
Forget to fill out that permission slip? “Oh, gorgonzola.”
Child eating directly off a plate without benefit of silverware or even hands? “Repeat after me, please: ‘Gorgonzola.'”
Who knew it was so versatile? I sure didn’t.
Then again, gorgonzola.