Rose-Colored Glasses

A small conversation over morning coffee became an exercise in perspective. The same words can feel affectionate in one context and problematic in another.

A week or so ago, my husband and I were having our morning coffee. We arise early most days, between 4 and 5 a.m., and leisurely go through a couple of cups each while reading what interests us on our respective glowing devices. Every so often, one of us will share something we’re reading and a discussion may ensue.

That morning he had read about some famous person. I don’t recall who. We spoke about that person’s life and I made a comment about him being eloquent.

My husband stopped and looked at me.

“That’s a big word.”

“Oh?” I replied, feeling a little sassy. “Would you like a definition?”

“No.”

“Need me to spell it for you?”

He started chuckling a bit. “It’s such a big word for such a little girl.”

Then we were both laughing.

I am a cancer survivor. I have worked long and hard to overcome the effects of Chemo Brain. For a very long time I couldn’t remember words like “eloquent,” “plethora,” or “laborious”—much less use them appropriately in conversation without an obvious pause while my brain searched for them. This time, the word arrived exactly when I wanted it.

I’ve also spent the past two years working to lose weight. So far I’ve lost 60 pounds. I feel little now.

My husband and I grew up in the ’60s and ’70s. Being referred to as a “girl” is not a huge insult to me. My mother, a child of the ’40s and ’50s, would be perfectly comfortable being called a “gal.” Words take on different meanings depending on the culture and generation using them.

This situation could be viewed through rose-colored glasses, or in a far less charitable light.

For me, the moment felt like a win. The word came easily. My brain worked the way it once did. My husband teased me, and I teased him back.

Would someone else see it differently? I’m certain they would.

Someone in a modern classroom discussion might view the exchange through a cultural lens. From that perspective, the humor might be seen as resting on the surprise that a woman used a sophisticated word. Calling an adult woman a “little girl” could be interpreted as diminishing her status or reinforcing older gender norms.

In that interpretation, the focus would not be on our intentions or our laughter, but on the words themselves and the cultural patterns they may represent.

Lived experience, however, adds layers that outsiders cannot see.

Now we have a running joke. Whenever I use a big word, my husband pauses and looks in my direction. I then assume he may be unfamiliar with the word and kindly offer to define it for him.

And then we laugh again.