Back in “the day” people in polite society muttered under their breath. It started when they were kids and their mother said, “Put away that Monopoly game and go clean your room!” That’s where the “mutter” came in, “Yea, well you’re a Stupid Head!” It was muttered “under the breath,” so mom knew you said something, but not what. It made you feel better after getting bossed around, but not in trouble for the cardinal sin of “sassing back.” Your parent might ask, “What did you say?” You’d lie, and say, “Nothing.” The “mutter” under your breath thing was an important component in maintaining a civil relationship. It provided relief for frustration without causing full-blown confrontation. Fortunately, it’s a technique that’s been adapted to our modern technological society. Kids don’t mutter under their breath, but they are masters at “text” muttering. They reply, for example, to mom’s text to, “Get your fanny home right now, young lady,” with, “Yes mom, on my way. Love you; yash (you’re a stupid head). Parents don’t know they’ve just been sassed. If they Google for a meaning, they won’t find it. It’s a secret cipher that the best code breakers have yet to crack.
It’s nice to see that the mutter tradition continues. It’s healthy for kids to express their frustration at being bossed around by adults, and yet, keep things civil. I’m sure our mothers knew exactly what we’d muttered when we were growing up, but they were wise enough to let it drop. Overt sassing, if detected, could not be ignored, and often resulted in a slap “upside” the head.
Old coots don’t mutter. The world would be a better place if we did, but we don’t. It’s because our hearing prowess fades as we age and when we try to mutter it comes out at full volume. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard of,” we’ll try to mutter to the waitress who just informed us we’re too late for the early bird special, but it comes out loud. We ruined her day, but it wasn’t our intent. After this happens a few times we come to realize that we’re not muttering and we kind of like how it feels. So we stick with it.
We don’t text well, at least not proficiently enough to end a message with a YASH. Our deteriorating hand-eye coordination makes us hit the wrong keys and anything could come out in our message; we don’t check our work before sending it and probably would insult the recipient. Which we want to do, but secretly. We’d end up with a black eye. And, that’s just another peril of being an old coot.
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