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This is barely worthy of a blog post. I’m just saying that up front. I’m not even sure how I ended up thinking about this last night. It was one of those falling asleep things where you know what you’re thinking is going to be the best blog post ever, but then in the morning (SHOCKED that you’ve even remembered it), it’s sort of lame. Yet, I type on.

I love P. It’s punchy and demands attention, but it’s not as harsh as T or K. It’s at the front of your lips ready to go, yet it’s not the most popular kid in school. It stands tall, but has some curve. You can draw a heart in it if you’re doodling your boyfriend’s last name with your first name. It plays well with others, both consonants and vowels alike. Also, if try to string a bunch of p-words together in a sentence like that one time where Catherine and I made every word in our conversation use a p-word, you will crack up.

Now take the word poop for example. It’s kind of the perfect P word. It’s allllllllllllmost an onomatopoeia (a word that is spelled like it sounds), but it’s not. Or is it? I don’t think it is. I think it’s that the order of the letters mimics the action. Poop. It can be a verb or a noun. Poop. Poop. It looks and sounds funky, just like what it is. Poop. It turns gross into silly.

P is quite a character.

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