Welcome to another Wicked Wednesday!
Thrice. It’s a real word, but should we use it?
I did. Foolishly, and to my own detriment. I was in fifth grade, so about ten years old. Old enough that I should have known better, that I should have predicted the teasing that the use of such a word would ensue.
Clearly I wasn’t thinking, or maybe I just didn’t care. I said it anyway.
We were in class doing some kind of maths, the question warranted the answer of ‘three times’, so I raised my hand. Thrice was obviously a newly acquired word within my vocabulary, and I was just itching to use it. It sounded posh, and I wanted an opportunity to say it in a sentence.
The teacher picked me, and I didn’t overthink it. I answered as I’d planned to. “THRICE”, I said. There was laughter, and not just from the students. Yes, it’s a real word, and yes, it does make sense in this context, but no one has said it seriously in probably the last century. It’s like you want to be socially inept.
I payed for that word, in teasing and in judgement. I regretted using it, but still, sometimes when something has happened three times, ‘thrice’ still comes back to haunt me, and to remind me of what we could have had together. Now I’ll hit enter
And I’ll leave you there.