Cleaning your house can very much be compared to an archaeological dig. Layer by layer you uncover things that have been long buried. You marvel at all of it, having any number of reactions. For me it was shock, confusion, nostalgia. I experienced all of these when I came across a collection of notebooks, the earliest of which dates back to my single digit years (I think I was maybe 7). I expected it to be the “worst” writing I’d ever find. But, while the story was clearly that of a 7 year old, I found the story to be quite cute and imaginative (biases because it was my own writing aside). The worst – and most hilarious – writing I found was from when I was in high school.
Oh, woe the angsty teen who no one understands! I laughed until I cried at what my perceived problems were in such a time of innocence and fun. And I laughed even harder when I found that I’d used the term “butt munch”. Yes, I who am trying to become a professional writer (fingers crossed and prayers sent!) used the term “butt munch”. And, I’m a little embarrassed to admit, I used it more than once.
To say my writing has since evolved is an understatement – at least I hope it has. But what a delight it was to use such a silly term in the depths of my teenage despair. I could have used any number of words, including swear words, because it was my own personal writing and my parents afforded the privacy thereof. But instead, the strongest way I could describe what I was going through was with the Simpsons-era slur “butt munch”.
I must say, I’ve used the term three times now, and it still arouses a twinge of glee within. It’s a throwback to a simpler time, when everything was intense and nothing would ever be more important. I miss those days, as one is wont to do amid the daily grind. But those days, along with any reasonable use of the term “butt munch” are relegated to the past, rightfully where they belong.