This is probably the last of the mega popular thread. A reader sends the above image:
Am I too late for eggcorns? One of Boston’s historic burying grounds is Copp’s Hill Burying Ground, named for the family of William Copp, who once owned the land. Several maps, including this one from 1776, label it “Corpse Hill” instead. Perfectly reasonable, especially considering locals’ relationship with the letter R.
An eggcorn fitting for the week:
Years ago, in winter, my Italian boyfriend called the “wind chill” factor the “windshield” factor, as he thought it meant how cold the temperature was going over a car’s windshield. He had been in Canada his whole life and nobody had corrected him (before me). He laughed.
Another:
What do you call it when you and your buddies go to the beach and build a big driftwood fire, cluster around it, and become even closer friends? This morning I saw the following on a gold prospecting forum I visit: “I have had many similar finds on beaches where people have at one time had a bond fire.”
A dozen more after the jump:
You guys are probably sick of these by now, but I’ll throw one in:
I remember calling my brother and getting my 4-year-old niece. When I asked her if my brother was at home, she told me that he had gone to “his ami,” having clearly heard that her father was on his way to that city in Florida.
Another:
I’ve got a companion to the “Seattle” eggcorn! (“Who is Attle, and why are we going to see her?”) A young friend on her first airplane trip was paying close attention to all the pilot’s announcements in preparation for takeoff. At one point the pilot announced that they were just waiting for clearance and then would be taking off. The kid turned to her older companion and asked, “Who is Clarence, and why are we waiting for him?”
Another:
A neighbor once told me that the second of two related unwelcome events was “like addin’ salt to an injury.” (Insult to injury)
Another:
I worked with a marketing director of a Texas bank in the ’70s. When something went wrong he was afraid that he was likely to be the “escaped goat”.
Another:
OK, I’ll bite. In law school, one of my best friends, had two eggcorns that he used (until someone pointed out the error): “all intensive purposes” for “all intents and purposes;” and “the straightened arrow” for “the straight and narrow.”
Another:
After reading the latest update to this thread, I just received a letter from a fellow attorney in which he endorses a judicial candidate on the grounds that she is “imminently qualified” for the appointment. Perhaps, by the time she takes the bench, she will be all the way there!
Another:
One of my partners in business sometimes tells me that he’s “flusterated” by one thing or another. The first few times I thought he might’ve misspoken. It wasn’t until recently that I realized he thought the word was flusterated instead of frustrated – and you know what, sometimes I get pretty flusterated too.
Another:
I grew up near Boston, and therefore I believed that Arthur was someone who wrote books.
Another:
I am a long-time reader and subscriber, but I this is the first time I am writing in. Reviewing all the eggcorns that have been shared, I thought your readers would enjoy this one. When I was about 10, I first encountered the hymn “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name.” The opening line stated, quite dramatically, “All hail the power of Jesus’s name, let angels PROSTRATE fall.” By this time in my life I had heard of PROSTATE cancer and knew where it was located on the male body. For the life of me, I did not understand what was going on with those angels.
Another:
My aunt used to say that you had to heat water in a pot until it came to a roaring boil.
One more:
Teaching 8th grade English, I’ve circled more than a few eggcorns in red ink over the last 18 years. The one I see with astonishing frequency: some variation or other on “It’s important not to take things for granite.” I’ll cut them some slack; they are, after all, fourteen. Wy wife, however, is fair game for good-natured ribbing for telling our sons recently “Don’t lick a gift horse in the mouth”.
The Dish 