Boxers or Brieves?
My father celebrated the curious way the English language would pluralize certain nouns by replacing the ending “f” with “ves.” He was a hoot at parties and in bars, unsheathing his arsenal of “ves” words in an instant, like it was second nature. He didn’t have to think about it; he could just do it. He was all, “I went out to the leaf pile and selected two leaves.” We’d laugh!
It was all good fun until the day he told me, in all seriousness, that he wanted me to get two “roast beeves” at the store. “OK, Dad,” I said. My sisters and I glanced at each other, and I could tell we were all thinking the same thing: "Beeves? Really?”
Things went downhill from there. He asked me how many different "reeves" I snorkeled through when I was in Hawaii. And didn't I wish I could be like Burt in Mary Poppins and dance on “rooves.” And by the way, he had a friend with twin boys, both of whom attended cooking school and had become "cheves" at famous restaurants. By that point he was too far gone. It happens to people when they get old. It'll happen to me one day. Alas!
Dear old Dad, God dressed his sole!