Who says meh?
When Jeff and I were in Marie Howe’s poetry workshop, perhaps our first workshop with her, Marie had us each write down three words we loved. Or something like that. And then we shared those words. One of Jeff’s words was “meh.” Marie hated that word. If you’ve ever interacted with Marie, you can imagine the drama with which she hated Jeff’s “meh.” The overemphasis on “hate,” the eyes rolling back in the head, the physical enactment of her skin crawling.
So, fast forward to today, when we have this “chunky flap book” for Emmett called Open the Barn Door. Every time we get to the goat, I think of Marie. Also, I don’t think the goat bleats “meeeeeeh” so much as simply shrugs his goat shoulders and says “meh.” So that’s how I say it. Emmett’s gonna think goats are so blase.
As our movers took my bureau up the stairs of our new house, the dude on the bottom said to the dude on top, “Hold on, let me press this.” He then switched his grip from underhand to overhand and pressed the chest of drawers up.