Who knew that people could get so worked up about the domestic behavior of total strangers? In May a woman described her husband as a “pack rat” and asked for a word for someone, like her, with the opposite tendency.
M. Gunnison Collins, of New York City, wrote, “Having for years resented the unsavory implications of pack rat, I relish the chance to label my opposites, who I’ve always felt lacked some basic degree of human warmth and material sentimentality. I propose we call them minimatons.”
Jim Tanner, of Fort Collins, Colo., wrote, “My condolences to the pack rat; his wife obviously doesn’t appreciate domestic sagacity. Being able to keep stuff, and lots of it, is the reason one maintains a home rather than living in a pod. If God had intended for us to be so cavalier about our possessions, He would not have given us basements or all those little cardboard boxes we’ll someday need. The man has married a classic domorexic.”
Frank Capuzzi, of Severna Park, Md., wrote, “I’ve had a term for years, and silently invoke it every time my wife accuses me of being a pack rat—which is often. If I’m a pack rat, she’s a wouldchuck.” (This word was a popular suggestion.)
For obvious reasons, a number of other responses shared the animal theme. Eileen Dolan, of Merchantville, N.J., coined hurl squirrel; Ethan Keyes, of Hallowell, Maine, yield mouse; Barbara Victor, of Arvada, Colo., meager beaver; Chris Rooney, of Berkeley, Calif., sparsupial; and Cecelia Burokas, of Chicago, let-gopher.
Uniquely, Ray Larsen, of Bozeman, Mont., offered “a little testimony in defense of the often-maligned pack rat,” genus Neotoma. He wrote, “These creatures usually are described as thieves and hoarders, because they take things for which they have no apparent use. However, sometimes they engage in simple trading. When I was a youngster, my aunt and uncle had a cabin in the mountains. Their tool shed was an occasional target for pack rats, and tools would disappear from the shed. But sometimes other objects would appear in place of the missing items. On one noteworthy occasion the missing tool was a cold chisel, an object considerably heavier than the average pack rat. The raiding rodent left a stick of dynamite in exchange.”
Great story, even if it is off topic. Back to business: Top honors go to Thomas S. G. Lawrence, of Staten Island, N.Y., for his highly original and funny coinage heave-homemaker.
Also sought in May was a term for the “property in some relationships that allows two people who haven’t spoken in years to simply dive into conversation as if they’ve not been apart.” William R. Phillips, of Seattle, proposed belongevity and extendship; Penny Geoghan, of Owl’s Head, N.Y., instimacy; Jeff Toder, of Calabasas, Calif., simchatico; Caroline Harris, of Lafayette, Calif., spantaneity; and Patti Trahern, of Prescott, Ariz., transfriendmentalism.
Top honors go to Norm Tabler, of Indianapolis, because his word is so much fun to say. He wrote, “In Latin nunc pro tunc means ‘now for then.’ The concept here is nuncprotunctuality.”
Send words that meet Pete Anderson’s or Daniel Scheub’s needs to Word Fugitives, The Atlantic Monthly, P.O. Box 67375, Chestnut Hill, MA 02467, or visit the Word Fugitives page on our Web site, at www.theatlantic.com/fugitives. Submissions must be received by October 31. Use the same addresses to submit word fugitives that you’d like The Atlantic’s help in finding. Letters become the property of Word Fugitives and may be edited.
Readers whose queries are published and those whose words are singled out for top honors will each receive, with our thanks, a selection of recent autographed books by Atlantic authors. The next installment’s correspondents will be sent Blind Into Baghdad, by James Fallows; Presidential Doodles, text by David Greenberg; and my own Word Fugitives.