the embarrassment of accidently calling her a moll

I have to assume the poor woman sat bolt upright in bed at 3am and shouted, “I called Kathy Lette a moll!” Put it down to nerves, meeting an idol and a theatre filled with hundreds of other devotees, but somewhere between her brain and the microphone that stood in full view of all in attendance, there was a mischievous alter ego ready to make sure she’d never dare speak in public again.

This unfortunate faux pas occurred at a book launch for Lette’s most recent novel, The Revenge Cluband the fact that Lette had just been talking about her first book, Puberty Blueswhich is full of molls and Chiko Rolls, meant it could have been passed off as clever satire. Except it wasn’t. The woman’s eyes widened as she swiftly self-corrected: “Kathy, you’ve been a role model for women…”

This literary fan had suffered an unfortunate affliction known as a spoonerism, where the beginnings of two words are transposed. I’m sure she was grateful Lette’s new novel isn’t about pheasant pluckers or we’d all have been hocked and shorrified!

My giggling at this comical moment was mainly of the nervous variety, as I’d only recently cast dispersions, instead of aspersions, in a radio interview where thousands got to hear my spectacular blunder. If only it had been a gardening segment where I could have cast nasturtiums with abandon.

My rather public gaffe, where a word is replaced by one that sounds similar, is known as a malapropism. The term comes from a character in Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s 1775 play, The Rivalsin which one character, Mrs Malaprop, muddles up words much to the amusement of the audience.

Sadly, this was not my first linguistically challenged rodeo. My form as a gifted malapropist dates back at least 25 years, to an incident at a social gathering where I commented on a dot painting by a non-Indigenous artist. “His style is very like deciduous paintings,” I said, the word ringing louder than a car alarm at 2am.

Former PM Tony Abbott became the butt of jokes when, during an election campaign, he earnestly stated that no one “is the suppository of all wisdom”.

JO PYBUS

Had I confidently smiled and moved on the listener may have thought they’d misheard, and that I actually had said “Indigenous”. Plausible deniability would have been a far lesser sin than my repeated attempts to correct the comment, each time repeating the mistake. “Silly me, I meant deciduous paintings.”

Malaprops abound in politics, where even Rhodes Scholars sometimes lack elocutionary finesse. Former PM Tony Abbott became the butt of jokes when, during an election campaign, he earnestly stated that no one “is the suppository of all wisdom”. Ouch, that’s gotta hurt! And what is it with politicians and bottoms, anyway? There was also Jacqui Lambie’s speech in the Senate, in which something “inappropriately reverses the anus of proof.”