Portmanteau

“We’re deplaning now. Please utilize the exit at the front of the plane.”

“Deplaning, ugh.”

“Only because ‘disembarking’ is too long,” Steve said.

“It’s not a real word!”

“It started in 1923.”

I considered this for about a nanosecond. “Slithy.”

“Now who’s making up words,” he said.

“Lewis Carroll. Lithe and slimy smashed together.”

“The first mash-up was in the 19th century? I think things have been around a lot longer than we think.”

“Things?” I said arching an eyebrow,

“Let me guess, ‘things’ is a word right up there with ‘deplaning’?”

“Yes. It’s non-specific and a person doesn’t have to put any thought into what’s coming out of their mouth.”

“Double-plus ungood,” he said, grinning.

“Actually…

“You like that one.”

“I do!”

“Ah, Lolife, you would like George Orwell.”

“Hey!” I protested.

“If Lewis Carroll can do it, why can’t I?”

“Is this where I ask what the words are?”

“Lolife, you’re my straight man. Love and life, because you’re the love of my life,” he said leaning in for a kiss.

I gave him a peck on the cheek.

“That’s all I get?”

“For now. I’ll reward you properly later.”

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