I saw a woman call Kathy Lette a moll. It could have been me

I have to assume the poor woman sat bolt upright in bed at 3am and shouted, “I called Kathy Lette a moll!” Put it down to nerves, meeting an idol and a theatre filled with hundreds of other devotees, but somewhere between her brain and the microphone that stood in full view of all in attendance, there was a mischievous alter ego ready to make sure she’d never dare speak in public again.

Kathy Lette’s first book, Puberty Blues, is full of molls and Chiko Rolls, so it could have been passed off as clever satire.Credit: Don Arnold/WireImage

This unfortunate faux pas occurred at a book launch for Lette’s most recent novel, The Revenge Club, and the fact that Lette had just been talking about her first book, Puberty Blues, which is full of molls and Chiko Rolls, meant it could have been passed off as clever satire. Except it wasn’t. The woman’s eyes widened as she swiftly self-corrected: “Kathy, you’ve been a role model for women...”

This literary fan had suffered an unfortunate affliction known as a spoonerism, where the beginnings of two words are transposed. I’m sure she was grateful Lette’s new novel isn’t about pheasant pluckers or we’d all have been hocked and shorrified!

My giggling at this comical moment was mainly of the nervous variety, as I’d only recently cast dispersions, instead of aspersions, in a radio interview where thousands got to hear my spectacular blunder. If only it had been a gardening segment where I could have cast nasturtiums with abandon.

My rather public gaffe, where a word is replaced by one that sounds similar, is known as a malapropism. The term comes from a character in Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s 1775 play, The Rivals, in which one character, Mrs Malaprop, muddles up words much to the amusement of the audience.

Sadly, this was not my first linguistically challenged rodeo. My form as a gifted malapropist dates back at least 25 years, to an incident at a social gathering where I commented on a dot painting by a non-Indigenous artist. “His style is very like deciduous paintings,” I said, the word ringing louder than a car alarm at 2am.

Former PM Tony Abbott became the butt of jokes when, during an election campaign, he earnestly stated that no one “is the suppository of all wisdom”.

JO PYBUS

Had I confidently smiled and moved on the listener may have thought they’d misheard, and that I actually had said “Indigenous”. Plausible deniability would have been a far lesser sin than my repeated attempts to correct the comment, each time repeating the mistake. “Silly me, I meant deciduous paintings.”

Malaprops abound in politics, where even Rhodes Scholars sometimes lack elocutionary finesse. Former PM Tony Abbott became the butt of jokes when, during an election campaign, he earnestly stated that no one “is the suppository of all wisdom”. Ouch, that’s gotta hurt! And what is it with politicians and bottoms, anyway? There was also Jacqui Lambie’s speech in the Senate, in which something “inappropriately reverses the anus of proof.”

I blame TV comedies and my Great-Aunty Margaret for my linguistic skills, best likened to those of a drunken sailor. The character Effie from the late-80s show Acropolis Now had us all repeating her well-worn line, “how embarrassment”. Kath & Kim forever changed the way I say, “look at me” and is also the reason I cannot walk past a nativity scene without remarking on the statue of baby cheeses.

As for my Great Aunty Margaret, she would complain to my nana about her neighbours being penny-pinchers, claiming, “it’s not like they are porpoises”. This was a story from my childhood, but years later Great Aunty Mags would have felt vindicated when Kath & Kim also confused paupers with sea-going mammals, alongside a desire to be effluent.

I have long accepted that my super-fast processing speed and subsequent challenges are not enough to dissuade me from public speaking or even hosting a podcast for which I did extensive training – on how to edit audio files. My biggest concern about these unfortunate fluffs is that my face might catch fire from the sheer humiliation when broadcasting live.

As my conscience becomes conscious, and paintings shed their leaves in winter, I’ll remind myself that there are people out there who have made a career from what comes naturally to me. If there is ever a reboot of Kath & Kim, I’ve got plenty of material for Kim’s long-lost sister, Jo.

Equally cathartic is what time has taught me. Which is that just because someone speaks with the eloquence and persuasiveness of a university debater, it’s no guarantee they have something worth listening to, or that their prose is factual. Being a cunning linguist and a speaker of truth are not mutually inclusive.

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