I mispronounce words all the time.
Like Moët. As in Moët & Chandon. Not that I drink, or really care what people think… eh… anymore. But I think this is the word that would give me pause, if I had to, for example, read it out loud in a room full of snobby people. I’m stoking my anxiety just thinking about it… ha ha.
I think my perturbation (probably another word I would likely not attempt to say out loud) stems from a particularly parvenu ex-girlfriend who would cast aspersions in my direction when I inevitably hacked at some or other particularly sacrosanct vocabulary during our discourse. In my defense I was quite shallow and she looked exceptionally good naked, which I offer up as some sort of excuse for putting up with bad behavior. She was an English major, as these creatures often are.
I often think about her. Not because of her lithesome form or forked tongue but rather her distain for people who didn’t read ‘The Economist’. She is likely the reason I still read this periodical. So perhaps one lasting benefit of our coupling…