Do Boobs Get Excited? Ah, Apparently

Got my run done. Got dinner going. Grabbed the computer, turned on Amy Winehouse, poured a mandarin wheat beer and went to my “office” – the deck that overlooks our little farm and is the inspiration for a million of our ideas.

I decided I’d just cop a squat and chill out, you know, calm my tits and hopefully come up with something that’s the bee’s knees.

I know. What. I hope no one was taking a drink while reading that. Because where did all that shit come from?

Oh. It all comes from us. Some of those sayings we just blurt out. Some we text (well, not me, but teens). One is barely used anymore unless you’re trying to be fancy or vintage or cheeky, and one is always used and just doesn’t make sense.

Chill out. Why does that make sense?  If you’re being logical, how? Things don’t chill out. If you’re chilling something, it chills down. That’s how I said it this weekend, by accident, and then realized it made more sense, logically, than the “chill out” version we always use.

If you chill something, its temperature is going down. Not out. How can a temperature even go out?

 

In the same way, cop a squat is so weird. If I allow my brain to create a visual of that saying’s origin, I can only think it has to do with cops asking someone they just arrested to sit on a curb. And that doesn’t make sense, either.

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Like, do cops squat a lot? Do they? I don’t know. I’ve never seen it. Is cop a verb? It seems so here. The saying implies you’re doing something to a squat.

I’m also pretty sure my kids wouldn’t know what I meant if I told them to cop a squat. They’d just stare at me. Blank.

stare
The stare.

They’d give me the same face I gave them when they showed me text messages from friends that said “calm your tits.” Sorry, do boobs get excited, like actually?  Is that a thing? Did someone have a biological response to something that caused their boobs to go crazy – so crazy, that someone had to tell them to calm them down?

Shhhh. It’s okay, boobs. Shhhh.

I can only imagine it started with a faulty sports bra, a junior high P.E. class and super awkward tween boys, but I can’t be sure. If nothing else, it makes me laugh. Because it’s probably just an excuse for kids to text “tits” and feel cool about it.

I might be too nerdy to dissect this stuff, I’m realizing.

Then there’s the bee’s knees. I had no idea they had knees. Maybe that’s why it means something is so unique and extraordinary and perfect. Maybe there’s a bee out there that actually had knees? And others didn’t? I know it’s not the best explanation, but I’ll refer you back – at this moment – to the mention of the mandarin wheat beer.

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Anyway, a new one I heard this weekend is, I think, a keeper. Rage quitting. How amazing is that?  It’s not really a cliché yet, unless I missed something. But rage quitting is a total thing and I get that. The visual matches the act. The words line right up with the thing.

It’s got a permanent place with me, even though I don’t think I’ll use it a lot. But I know I’ll use it more than “calm your tits,” mostly because I can’t even say that one with a straight face.