|Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons|
Let's assume for a moment that I had done my fact-checking and it turns out that "buttload" exists as a unit of measurement. This would have three effects:
- First, I could respectfully use a term I confess to have enjoyed for many years among playful peers.
- Second, because I care about accuracy, I would be required to perform calculations prior to using the term, as in the case of describing how many ticket holders will occupy the seats at the upcoming Super Bowl. No longer could I explete, "Wow! That's a buttload of people!" Instead, I would deliver a more refined, "My, that seems to be approximately 793.65 buttloads of fans."
- Third (and now I come to the point of this post), I could recognize, with both the decency and accuracy of the first two points, that we are in a buttload of trouble. To be precise, we are in 365.07 buttloads of trouble. This is the number that goes into 46,000, which is, according to the Good Housekeeping magazine I found open on our kitchen table earlier this afternoon, "the number of U.S. self-storage facilities...."
I know what I've been doing, and I realized it this summer when we moved out of our apartment. The living space took our pack of friends two hours to empty. The attic, basement and garage, six. We're still embarrassed.
We'll be selling and giving away a buttload of our stuff this summer. And I mean that in the vulgar sense.