The Slug and the Lettuce

There are those who collect stamps or coins. They find them fascinating; examining their shape, form, color and histories and then sorting them into labeled boxes or albums according to different criteria of their own. I'm also a collector of sorts - an amateur word collector. I collect words such as homonyms, synonyms, onomatopoeic words and so on.

Almost without noticing, I began collecting what I have called SL-words; words that contain the sounds "s" and "l" together. Many of these words are associated with wetness or moisture and many of them describe unpleasant, unattractive and even repulsive situations.

I started collecting the words in an organized fashion in a London watering hole, a pub called the "Slug and Lettuce". "Slugs", I thought to myself, "what slimy creatures they are. How do they move along so slowly? They don't slither through the grass like snakes do. Nor do they slink slyly back and forth as foxes do. Those shell-less snails slide sluggishly from rock to flower, flower to wall, wall to lettuce, leaving their silvery trails behind them."

Just as I was contemplating the wonderful world of slugs, a real slob came in and sat down next to me, spilling his beer all over my pants. To make matters worse, his bulldog, with he had with him, crawled under the table and sat down at my feet, panting and snorting. Before I realized what was happening, the slobbering dog was salivating his steamy saliva onto my boots.

I got up and went to sit on stool at the counter. I ordered a beer and a plate of thick potato soup. The waiter-barman, filled up a glass of beer and slid it across the counter in my direction. He then brought me an empty bowl into which he slopped two or three spoonfuls of soup as thick as porridge. To tell you the truth, it was more like sludge than potato soup.

I had had about as much as I could take of the "Slug and Lettuce" by this time. Being London, of course it was raining outside. However, I didn't let that bother me. It was wonderfully refreshing to slosh around the puddles in my galoshes....... until I slipped, came down with a splash, and slid off the pavement.

At that point I decided that it was time to leave London - or should I say Slondon.

This was written many years ago by me and I was reminded of it when listening to a Lexitecture podcast recently. Then again listening to Somethin Rhymes with Purple podcast. I enjoyed writing it and now I have enjoyed re-reading it.

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Jack Pillemer jackpillemer@gmail.com